April 30, 2021: Making My Way

                  Making My Way

Warehouse work can be mindless,

And the laborers come and they go.

The bosses aren’t known for kindness.

Work is hard and the wages low,

 

But the bosses seem to like me here

Because I earn each dime I make.

They can always be sure my face will appear,

Even if I’m sometimes late.

 

It may not be much, but at least it’s a start

Until I find myself something better, . . .

At the interview, you can bet I’ll look sharp.

I hope they’re impressed by my letter,

 

Since I haven’t got much for a resume.

I hate those damned applications.

I never know the right words to say for

“Excuse my cut short education.”

 

But I know I possess great intelligence,

And I’m keen for a chance to learn.

I know how to be a gentleman.

I just hope for a fair return,

 

As I struggle each day to better myself,

And as I pray for my sisters and brothers

That they’ll help support Mom, who is not in good health,

But I don’t mind my bread without butter!

 

It’s just that sometimes, I feel so low

Then I step out into the neighborhood

Where there are so many people with nowhere to go

Who are jealous of anyone’s good.

 

How do you get to peace of mind

When everyone’s into your business?

Yet where  people look on when they see a crime,

‘Cause they’re afraid to admit they’re a witness?

 

The dealers and the gamblers party all night long,

And talk in the hallways is crude,

But when you live in the ghetto, you’ve got to be strong.

I know it’s a matter of attitude.

 

I’ve learned how to hustle, and to follow my hunches,

Because nothing is sure when you’re out on the street.

I’ve learned to scuffle and to roll with the punches

As I strive to be clear and to stand on my feet.

 

Success will be on by that last extra mile,

And I’m hip to action that’s all across town!

Life is good, and I choose to smile:

Nothing of this world’s gonna get me down!

April 30, 2021: Kind of an Ode to Duty by Ogden Nash on www.poeticous.com

Kind of an Ode to Duty

O Duty,
Why hast thou not the visage of a sweetie or a cutie?
Why displayest thou the countenance of the kind of conscientious organizing spinster
That the minute you see her you are againster?
Why glitter thy spectacles so ominously?
Why art thou clad so abominously?
Why art thou so different from Venus
And why do thou and I have so few interests mutually in common between us?
Why art thou fifty per cent martyr
And fifty-one per cent Tartat?
Why is it thy unfortunate wont
To try to attract people by calling on them etither to leave undone the deeds they like,
    or to do the deeds they don't?
Why art thou so like an April post mortem
On something that died in the Ortumn
Above all, why dost thou continue to hound me?
Why art thou always albatrossly hanging around me?
Thou  so ubiquitous,
And I  so iniquitous.
I seem to be the one person in the world thou art perpetually preaching at who or to who;
Whatever looks like fun, there art thou standing between me and it, calling yoo-hoo.
O Duty, Duty!
How noble a man should I be hadst thou the visage of a sweetie or a cutie!
Wert thou but houri instead of hag
Then would my halo indeed be in the bag!
But as it is thou art so much forbiddinger than a Wodehouse hero's forbiddingest aunt
That in the words of the poet, When Duty whispers low, Thou must, this erstwhile youth replies,
I just can't

My Boss, The President at the Boat Yard

               My Boss, the President at the Boat Yard

I am all that I seem

On a power trip,

I’ve created this scene,

And I captain my ship!

 

I balance my caring

With what needs to be done,

For I am deeply aware

Of my place in the sun.

 

We offer the best to all of our clients.

You have a suggestion?  Show me the science;

That it’s worth it to change a rule!

I still remain the company owner,

All my life, I’ve been playing the loner,

And I won’t be anyone’s fool!

 

I know sometimes, I may seem remote,

But it takes some detachment to choose.

I’ve got to keep this ship afloat

Or everyone stands to lose.

 

The sailors all have something to say,

But I’ve got to steer the course.

I’ll hear their ideas, but I’ll do it my way

If I have to do it by force.

 

We offer the best to all of our clients.

You have a suggestion?  Show me the science;

That it’s worth it to change a rule!

I still remain the company owner,

All my life, I’ve been playing the loner,

And I won’t be anyone’s fool!

 

Sometimes I wish we could all get together,

And pool our thoughts about how to do better,

And address our divergent needs.

I do my best to understand.

If I feel I am able, I do lend a hand,

But the company’s got to succeed!

 

You see -- my whole life is invested.

I can’t afford to take it slow.

I can be autocratic, just the way you’ve protested,

But you can pack up and go!

 

I’ve always had an open door,

But don’t tell me what to do.

I’m not afraid, though I’m waging war!

Show me you’re with me, and I’ll be with you.

April 29, 2021: Sea Fever by John Masefield, in "Treasury of Great Poems (Untermeyer)", page 1100.

Sea Fever

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by,
And the wheel's kick and the wind's song and the white sail's shaking,
And a gray mist on the sea's face and a gray dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again to the vagrant gypsy life.
To the gull's way and the whale's way where the wind's like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick's over. 

April 28, 2021: Blessed the Soul

Blessed the Soul

Blessed the soul who understands that he works for more than his pay.
Blessed the soul whose awareness expands absolute when she chooses to pray.
Blessed the soul with an open heart to the loving of every day.
Blessed the soul with an open mind, yet who follows along his way.
Blessed the soul who knows it’s vain to expect good fortune to stay.
Blessed the soul with an exquisite pain, yet who does not yield to dismay.
Blessed the soul who knows the conventions and chooses her own role to play.
Blessed the soul with control on attention, whose doing conforms to his say.

April 28, 2021: Tao Te Ching by Lao Tzu, #66, Gia-Gu Feng and Jane English Version

Sixty-Six

Why is the sea king of a hundred streams?
Because it lies below them.
Therefore it is the king of a hundred streams.

If the sage would guide the people, he must serve with humility.
If he would lead them, he must follow behind.
In this way when the sage rules, the people will not feel oppressed;
When he stands before them, they will not be harmed.
The whole world will support him and will not tire of him.

Because he does not compete,
He does not meet with competition.

April 27, 2021: Holding Hands

                Holding Hands

 

Your hand –

Only a hand

Until you touch

Me.

 

If it were only your hand

  It would only be a hand –

If it were only your body,

  It would only be a thing.

 

If it were not intentional,

But also unintentional,

It would not be from the heart.

You touched my love.

Joints, muscles

My fragile love –

Bone, skin

With your hands

Connecting tissue

Your fragile hands

Nerves

Which are precious to me

Blood vessels

Because they are fragile

Hair follicles

And yours.

 

Your hands could never be

More precious

For the rings and bracelets of a queen,

And a statue of precious stones

A thousand years old

Could never be

More valuable to me.

 

Your hands,

Only hands,

Until you held me

 

In your gentle hands.

April 27, 2021: Valediction, Forbidding Mourning by John Donne, In Harvard Classics, vol. 41, page 304

Valediction, Forbidding Mourning

As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go;
While some of their sad friends do say,
Now his breath goes, and some say, No;

So let us melt, and make no noise,
no tear-floods, nor sigh-tempests move;
'Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.

Moving of th' earth brings harms and fears
Men reckon what it did and meant'
But trepidations of the spheres,
Though greater far, are innocent.

Dull sublunary lovers' love
whose soul is sense, cannot admit
Absence; for that it doth remove
Those things which elemented it.

But we, by a love so far refined,
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind,
Careless, eyes, lips and hands to miss,

-- Our two souls therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to airy thinness beat.

If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two;
Thy soul, the fixt foot, makes no show
To move, but doth if th' other do.

And though it in the centre sit,
Yet when the other far doth roam,
It leans and hearkens after it,
And grows erect as that comes home.

Such wilt thou be to me, who must,
like th' other foot obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circles just,
And makes me end where I begun.

 

April 26, 2021: American Hope

                  American Hope

Hour to hour;

        Day to day;

            Month to month at most.

Empty of history,

        No great mystery,

            Just make enough money to coast.

Numb the pain

           That could drive you insane;

                What’s to gain if this sad old world should explode,

    Or erode,

    Or melt,

    Or be frozen by hearts made of stone.

It’s become too easy for the mind to gloss

    Over those who are dying on poverty’s cross,

        And Ignore the mounting ecological cost,

And leave the answers to those who lead,

    Seeking our solace in corporate greed,

           In need of conviction, we don’t care how you plead;

As you put our money in national banks,

    Which invest, in turn, in missiles and tanks.

        (Don’t read the contract, just fill in the blanks),

And to save our elections,

    And religious affections,

        And consumer values we hold so dear,

And to maintain the compliance

    Of our friends in alliance,

        And destroy all defiance where it should appear,

We break our own laws,

    Attack without cause:

        In the eagle’s sharp claws are the shreds of our fear.

We are numbed in frivolity

    In this brainwashed society

        Without sense or sobriety, split into pieces

Of great isolation;

    Too much imitation

            To find consolation in a statue of Jesus.

    Do you know what I mean?

    Have you seen what I’ve seen?

    Have you had the same dream

Of friendship between us?

April 26, 2021: Psalms 82, A Psalm of A'saph. Revised Standard Version.

 Psalms 82:  A Psalm of A'saph.

God has taken his place in the divine council;
in the midst of the gods he holds judgment
"How long will you judge unjustly
and show partiality to the wicked?"
                                                    Selah
Give justice to the weak and the fatherless;
    maintain the right of the afflicted and the destitute.
Rescue the weak and the needy;
    deliver them from the hand of the wicked."

They have neither knowledge nor understanding,
    they walk about in darkness;
    all the foundations of the earth are shaken.

I say, "You are gods, sons of the Most High, all of you;
nevertheless, you shall die like men,
    and fall like any prince.
(You shall) fall as one man, O princes!"

Arise, O God, judge the earth;
    for to thee belong all the nations.

April 25, 2021: Lake Mann

                  Lake Mann

 “And God called the firmament Heaven”

--  Genesis 1:8

 

Waters of darkness

Become cold at the bottom,

Away from the sun,

But I have connection

To a power above the water,

Now saying, “Rise over with me!”

Swirling, gushing foam

Surges to bring my downfall, but

Balanced against velocity,

I have risen in my skis!

April 25, 2021: "The Churn" by Jelaluddin Rumi in "This Longing", page 73. (Mathnawi, IV, 3028-3050)

The Churn

The forms and the creatures have a purpose.
God said, I was a Hidden Treasure,
and I desired to be known.

Manifestation contains that Desire
to be known.  Like a deep truth
inside a lie, like the taste of butter
in buttermilk, that's how Spirit
is held in form.
                            For a long time butter stays
invisibly present in the churn mixture.
Then a Prophet comes with a dasher, or it might be
just someone who has heard the words of a saint
and is connected to that one as an infant is
when it hears its mother.  The baby doesn't understand 
language, but it knows the voice-sound,
and gradually learns what the talking means.

We're all born dumb.  Only God
did not have to be taught to speak,
though Adam learned without a nurse or a mother,
and Jesus came articulate into the world.  But most of us
need a lot of attention, much shaking by the Sheikh,
much turning and paddling.  Slowly the butter
emerges.  Don't throw away buttermilk too soon!
Wait.  Keep churning!

Do that work, and you'll begin to hear inside
the maundering drunktalk of drunkards
the Presence of the Winemaker, the Host
who served this wine to us.
 

April 24, 2021: Hiking on Snow

                Hiking on Snow

One thing I’ve learned

Is that hiking on snow;

Especially wet snow,

Isn’t really what I like.

I used to do that

When I was a paper boy,

And I couldn’t ride my bike.

Oh, I remember getting cold,

But one thing I forget

Is how you fall through a drift,

And your shoes and socks get wet

 

How the snow can be hard,

Or fine and flaky,

Or soft and slushy,

And then it can turn very slick,

And staying on your feet

Can sometimes be a trick.

 

Now, there are other substances

That are murder on your feet.

Things can be sharp or crumbly,

Or just hot like a city street.

Sometimes you’ve got to be careful,

Lest something stub your toe.

Some trails are rough,

But I like ’em less

When they’re covered up with snow.

April 24, 2021: Good-bye And Keep Cold in New Enlarged Pocket Book of Robert Frost's Poems, page 258

 Good-bye And Keep Cold

This saying good-bye on the edge of the dark
And the cold to an orchard so young in the bark
Reminds me of all that can happen to harm
An orchard away at the end of the farm
All winter, cut off by a hill from the house.
I don't want it girdled by rabbit and mouse,
I don't want it dreamily nibbled for browse
By deer, and I don't want it budded by grouse.
(If certain it wouldn't be idle to call
I'd summon grouse, rabbit, and deer to the wall
And warn them away with a stick for a gun.)
I don't want it stirred by the heat of the sun.
(We made it secure against being, I hope,
By setting it out on a northerly slope.)
No orchard's the worse for the wintriest storm'
But one thing about it, it mustn't get warm.
"How often already you've had to be told,
Keep cold, young orchard.  Good-bye and keep cold.
Dread fifty above more than fifty below,"
I have to be gone for a season or so.
My business awhile is with different trees,
Less carefully nurtured, less fruitful than these,
And such as is done in their wood with an axe --
Maples and birches and tamaracks.
I wish I could promise to lie in the night
And think of an orchard's arboreal plight
When slowly (and nobody comes with a light)
Its heart sinks lower under the sod.
But something has to be left to God.

April 23, 2021: Dealing with Disconnection

               Dealing with Disconnection

 I feel quite a sense of disconnect

Since my neighborhood has changed.

I wonder what it is that I need to protect

When I act like I need to pretend

That everything’s cool, and I know where it’s at,

Although prices are out of my range,

And the music is raunchy, and the beer is flat,

And there’s lingo I don’t comprehend;

And nobody looks like a friend.

 

In the morning, I’m already out of phase

When I cannot remember my dreams.

My blacks and whites turn to faded grays,

Grown blurry through the smudging of time.

When there’s too many details that living requires

And my pockets have broken their seams,

And I’m trapped in the angst of unmet desires

Like keys that I can’t seem to find.

Why can’t my experience rhyme?!

 

I work too many hours on “creative”  endeavors:

On conflicting feelings, and honest confessions.

Do I say it directly or try to be clever?

How much do I need to explain?

I’ve been tracing the patterns I see in my bubble,

But is that an authentic expression?

Is my purpose to project this endless struggle

I don’t always know how to contain?

Is my purpose to entertain?

 

Sometimes, frankly, I just feel pathetic

In my every-day interactions;

Amongst worldly people, so spry and athletic,

Or so irreverently involved,

While I pass my days, never quite knowing

How to show my romantic attractions,

But life keeps on going, and going, and going.

My goals remain unresolved,

And around them my lifetimes revolve, and evolve, and dissolve,

 

And reach out endlessly for something that’s real;

Take the trouble where my help might is needed.

I never forget what I hold ideal,

But I deal with what’s happening now!

It may not be simple but I seek for the center,

And I don’t want to be conceited,

But since I have to be -- I will be my own mentor.

While truth is something that must be allowed,

I’ll take my stand, though I might not know how!

 

Still, I feel an estrangement that’s so profound

That I no longer feel estranged!

I’m just glad I’ve still got my feet on the ground

While untangling the spells I’ve been under;

I find that it’s work to follow my bliss,

And it’s struggle to roll with the strangeness;

To move beyond all the chances I’ve missed;

Building, as I can, on my blunders,

And . . . . I wonder, when I can,

Upon wonder!