Tag Archives: Daily Post

Restart

 

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Restart

Every tortured ending, every tearful parting
may simply be the means to another soul’s restarting.
Freshening up our memory, clearing off the clutter.
Making our way simpler, like a warm knife cutting butter.
Why do we fuss and bother? Why do we tear our hair
when we’re suddenly a single after being a pair?
Another game has started—to find each other again
in another life or this one. How can we know when?
Life is an adventure, a continual seeking
full of little wrinkles in need of constant tweaking.
We’re blind to the whole of it, but often get a peek
to help us find the goal that we are meant to seek.
We are the markers in a game whose players we don’t know—
impetuously wishing the game were not so slow.
We want to know our endings and what we will be getting
when in truth each ending will just be a resetting.

 

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The prompt today is restart.

Dim Prospects

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Dim Prospects
(A Hyperbolic Modest Proposal)

We’re blotting the sun out and dimming the stars
with furnaces, factories, wildfires, cars.
With overproduction causing glut after glut,
it seems our improvements are anything but.
Man’s once-shiny future is now looking dim,
and he’s pulling the whole planet under with him.
Fires and hurricanes, tsunamis and quakes,
rampaging hillsides and drying-up lakes
are messages sent that the earth’s fighting back—
giving us warnings of things out of whack.

When fat cats in limos and thousand buck suits
have usurped all the seeds and kept all the fruits,
and all of their products are made by machines,
three dimensional copiers making our jeans,
our autos, appliances, organs and cars,
our TVs and glasses, our bikes and guitars,
we’ll all need welfare—mere motionless blobs
once they have “teched” away all of our jobs.
And since welfare is something that they’ve soundly booed,
what will the masses do for their food?

Where will we sleep once all of the money
all of the milk and all of the honey
is in the pockets of those gazillionaires
cushioned away in their billion-buck lairs?
Keeping a few of us here on the scene
to garden and cook for them, to serve and clean,
they’ll let unwashed masses starve in their cots
and buy from each other their trillion dollar yachts
And perhaps they’ll be happy with what they’ve created:
machines making products ’til their needs are sated.

Now that they’ve purchased our ship of state
and made it their own, it seems that the fate
of unlucky millions who’ve gone overboard
for lack of the medicine they can’t afford
is nothing to them, for not one of them cares
how any common citizen  fares.
Lest we riot against them out of our need
for money for food they’ve usurped in their greed,
issue guns to the populace. Let us dispense
of  these unneeded masses. To them, it makes sense!

The prompt word today is dim.

Cinnamon Woes

 Cinnamon Woes

When for my yearly physical I went to see my doc,
two cinnamon pills daily were prescribed to me ad hoc.
I had a premonition this solution wouldn’t work,
for prescribing condiments seemed nothing but a quirk.

With no other suggestions, she had me in a bind.
High cholesterol’s no joke.  I knew I had to mind.
I put it off  ’til evening for it seemed to me so odd
to buy the stuff in capsules to put into my bod.

I took one before bedtime and it caught up in my throat.
The gelatin slowly dissolved.  The spice began to bloat.
I had cinnamon reflux. Then I had cinnamon burps.
I swallowed and I swallowed and took water in four slurps.

I coughed three times and tasted cinnamon each time.
I savored not its flavor.  Its taste was not sublime.
That throat lump then descended.  The pain was near my heart.
Then suddenly that cinnamon was expelled in a fart.

The jar of cinnamon capsules is huge and fully filled.
Tomorrow morn at breakfast, again I should be pilled.
But though I’m not the type to go against the status quo,
from now on I’ll take cinnamon with sugar, rolled in dough.

 

This is a rewrite. Image downloaded from the internet. The prompt today was premonition.

The Gatherers

 

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The Gatherers

We gather a new world
every time
as we collect marks
in  black lines
on white paper,
and we have the power
of each world
that we pull around us.

I might have called this poem
“Utter Sovereignty,”
but I did not, for rulers are
sad folks, and lonely.

We are the gatherers and so
we draw to us what we need
and are never alone.
There is nothing we lack for
in this storehouse where
the shelves hold words,
the air is heavy with ideas
and the walls are covered
by imagination.

We gather words to set them free again.
This is the pattern of the world
that no one has ever broken.

Everything flying apart,
every moment of the day,
and all of us
gathering
it back together
again.

 

 

This is a rewrite of a poem written four years ago.  The prompt word today is imagination.

A Sandy Congregation

I love what congregates around the sea.—not the open sea. Rather, where it meets the land. (Photos will enlarge when you click on them.)

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love sand and the things it collects: seashells, jellyfish, sand dollars, starfish, puff fish, sand pipers, sea turtles and even the people who collect at the beach.  It is like they have retreated as far as possible–the next step is either a boat or drowning!  They tend to be individuals, slightly odd–kind of like the people from the western world who congregate in third world locales like Africa.  Perhaps they are this age’s pioneers or trappers.

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Oh yes.  I do love the oceanside, the beach.  Salt. Sand.  I love what collects above the beach as well: frigate birds and pelicans, ibises, sun, moon, clouds.  Above are some of the thousands of images of the beach I’ve collected over the past ten years or so.

I would have to say that my muse is the sea–but not the open sea. Rather, where it meets the land.

 

I admit, this is a reblog of photos from three years ago. The prompt word today was congregate.

Mismatched

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Mismatched

You seem to dwell, dear, in the main
securely down in the inane.
If only you could just refrain
from loudly voicing your disdain.
Astrology you find a pain,
consider ESP insane,
while astral travel is the bane
of your existence and you’re fain
to scratch your head and shake your mane,
swearing you’ll open a vein
if I don’t try to put a rein
on my attempts to reach you where
you constantly refuse to fare.
Meditation’s out with you,
and you’ll have nothing to do
with Ouija boards or the I Ching.
You do not “Ohm” or chant or sing
to anyone or anything.
In short, you’re firmly planted here
on the earth, so dour and drear.
While my mind dwells in the stars,
yours hangs out in lowlife bars.
This love match has not scored a win.

Match.Com has erred again.
And so, my dear, ta-ta, adieu.
I guess I’m breaking up with you.
I fear that I have tried in vain
to find you on the astral plane.

The prompt today is astral.

Hacked!

                                                          Would the real me ever publish a photo this rude????

Hacked!

They know my situation. They’re conversant with the fact
that while I was not looking, my Facebook page was hacked.
They commandeered my photos, made off with every friend,
made dumb statements in my name. The horrors never end.
Their “selfie” shots of me are rude. Wherever did they take them?
They’re all of me, but I assure you that I did not make them.
Now my time is spent explaining statements I didn’t make
to friends who may not realize this new site is a fake.
But the worst truth of the matter—the thing hardest to see
is that they like the hacked “me” more than they like me!

 

The prompt word today was conversant.

Dad’s Makeover

 

Dad’s Makeover

OMG, you guys.  Daddy slept all morning so I made a fast run to the house to find his reading glasses and pick up some clean underwear.  Hold onto your hats, because I have big news. Our old Dad has really cleaned up his act!  He got rid of all the empty paper bags and National Geographics. There is space between objects in the refrigerator. You can see the hall walls again. No countless stacks of empty jelly glasses and yogurt cups.  No drawers full of used twist ties and rubber bands streaked with carbon from newspapers thrown twenty years ago.

All of the flowerpots with dry cracked soil and the ossified skeletons of plants? Gone, along with their friends the stacks of empty pizza boxes and  six packs of beer bottles.No cupboard full of clam chowder.  No year’s supply of ketchup stockpiled in the pantry. In the bathroom drawer, just one tube of toothpaste squeezed from the end. No ranks of out-of-date prescription bottles.  No shriveled tubes of Preparation H.

Mama’s clothes are finally gone from the closet. Her dusty doilies, vanished from every surface in the house. No mismatched socks and wrenches in his bedroom drawers.

How did this come about? Impossible to say as he still hasn’t come to after his surgery, but if I were to assay the probabilities, I’d say a woman might be involved.  There is a vase of flowers in his hospital room and a container of homemade soup in the little fridge beside his bed.  His hair looks newly cut and his nostril hairs are not in evidence.  All presentable underwear in the valise  I packed for him and sis, his jockeys are in shades of maroon, navy blue and rust brown!!!  No more untidy whities.  No more undershirts with holes in them. It’s like they operated on his whole life, not just his appendix.  Removed every dusty, tattered, useless, outgrown part of him and plopped down a new father in his place.

Oops.. gotta run soon.  The nurse just said he has another visitor. Not a family member, but the one who admitted him to the hospital last night at midnight. The one who left the key to his house for me.  They say only one visitor at a time, so guess I’ll have to leave when she gets here.  Door opening. She’s coming in the door! I’ll call you from the car.

(After a ten minute lapse, the phone rings again.)

Okay. You guys? Are you all there?  Sit down, will you? All sitting down? A slight modification. Make that a he who came in the door!

The prompt word today is assay.

Broken Hearted

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Broken Hearted

My heart’s not fully functioning. Its working parts are rusted.
With all life’s empty promises it has become encrusted.
Friends tell me it’s been out-of-use and just needs to be dusted,
but so far no one’s come along that I feel can be trusted.
The truth is, it has been too long since I have truly lusted,
and so although they say that my heart’s just unadjusted,
I’m pretty sure the truth of it is that it must be busted.

Fiction, folks.  Really. The prompt word today was encrusted.

Constant Contradiction: Anima vs. Animus, Virgin and Warrior, Gun Control vs. the NRA

Someone on a social site I post on once stated that he couldn’t understand the contradiction between my statement that I was an agnostic and the fact that a number of my retablos made use of images of the Virgin of Guadalupe.

One side of the Mexican coin as well as the Universal coin.

I answered that for me, she was a symbol of that gentle, loving, peaceful, motherly, female side of Mexico that balanced the macho, warlike, violent male side. He didn’t understand this and actually ended our correspondence—a perfect example of that force I sought to counterbalance. Some years ago I completed another retablo entitled “Macho” that demonstrates the male side of the dichotomy.

My newest retablo deals with the dichotomy between the masculine and the feminine in both Mexico and the world.My  retablo deals with the dichotomy between the masculine and the feminine in both Mexico and the world.

It seems to me that this constant struggle between these two forces in our lives is especially evident in the past two years. The masculine demands its right to exercise its power in whatever means it might choose. The right to possess and fire a gun retains its power in our “land of the free” despite its ever-increasing tendency to wholesale slaughter. The voices of mothers and those sane souls male or female who cry out to restore balance through gun control fall on the deaf ears of those meant to serve our needs.

Below is another  sculpture I completed in 2012 entitled, “Anima/Animus.”

ANIMA/ANIMUSSHADOWED ANIMA

Since first reading Jung 37 years ago, I have been almost constantly engaged in examining that force which seems to drive the world—that shifting between anima and animus that the I Ching might call yin and yang and that religion might classify as good and evil. Not that either the anima or  animus is purely good or evil, as they signify the unconscious male impulse in a woman and the unconscious female impulse in a male. The anima is the feminine part of a man’s personality and the animus is the male part of a woman’s personality, so each sex contains elements of both.  The struggle in the world is partially a matter of trying to balance the two, and in our present society, there is certainly good evidence that we are out of balance..  This is a simplistic statement of a very complex matter, but one I often deal with in my work.

ANIMA/UNSHADOWED

ANIMA/UNSHADOWED

ANIMUS/ANIMA CLOSEUP

This detail symbolizes the shattering of the male side of the ego by a feminine consciousness. The gold object in the glass case is a small replica of the instrument used to sever the head in sacrificial prehispanic temple ceremonies. The hammer shattering the glass is meant to symbolize the gentling effect of the feminine on the msculine.This detail examines the shattering of the male side of the ego by a feminine consciousness. The gold object in the glass case is a small replica of the instrument used to sever the head in sacrificial preHispanic temple ceremonies. The hammer shattering the glass is meant to symbolize the gentling effect of the feminine on the masculine. Would that this balance is soon restored in our society, which presently suffers 25 times the deaths by gunfire of any other developed nation.

Below are some quotations and links for various articles I researched concerning the issue of gun control and the rampant gun violence and mass shootings in the U.S. as compared to the rest of the world:

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2018/feb/14/school-shootings-in-america-2018-how-many-so-far

“But the emotional impact of school shootings has sparked a booming school safety industry. In 2017, the market for security equipment in the education sector was estimated at $2.68bn, according to industry analysts at IHS Markit. Some companies have capitalized on parents’ fears by selling bulletproof backpacks or whiteboards, as well as offering ways to fortify school buildings themselves against attack.

While refusing to pass substantive gun control restrictions, Congress has approved hundreds of millions of dollars in federal spending to help put police officers in public schools, including $45m in 2013, the year after the Sandy Hook elementary school shooting.

In 2009,mericans own 48 percent of the estimated 750 million civilian owned guns worldwide.

The U.S. makes up less that 5% of the world’s population , yet holds 31% of the global mass shooters. (2012 statistics.)”

“In February 2017, US President Donald Trump signed a measure that scrapped an Obama-era regulation aimed at keeping guns out of the hands of some severely mentally ill people.”

“Some gun rights advocates have pushed to expand gun-carrying in schools further. Andrew McDaniel, a state legislator in Missouri who introduced legislation last year to make it easier to carry guns in schools, told the Guardianthat, in rural schools where it might take 20 or 30 minutes for law enforcement to respond to a school shooting in progress, it made sense to have other armed citizens ready to step in.”

Quote from Denver Post: “In the wake of massacres like Wednesday’s school shooting in Parkland, Florida, a small number of states have passed “red flag laws” that allow the seizure of guns before people can commit acts of violence.

California, Washington, Oregon, Indiana and Connecticut have statutes that can be used to temporarily take guns away from people whom a judge deems a threat to themselves or others. Lawmakers in 18 other states – including Florida – plus the District of Columbia have proposed similar measures.

Mental illness, escalating threats, substance abuse and domestic violence are among the circumstances under which a judge can order weapon restrictions.”

“This morning I heard the sheriff [in Parkland] lament the fact that he did not have the tools to remove the firearms from the shooter,” Joshua Horwitz, executive director of the Coalition to Stop Gun Violence, said Thursday. “Had he lived in one of those states where this law is in place, he would have had the tools, and this shooting may have been averted.”

“The nation’s patchwork of federal and state gun laws mainly involves background checks and actions to prevent people who pose a threat from buying firearms. The approach of red flag laws is to seize guns from people who have them and to restrict their access until they are no longer dangerous.”

http://nymag.com/daily/intelligencer/2018/02/every-attempt-to-change-gun-laws-under-trump.html

“He must have been the kind of child who had to be told more than once not to put his hand in the fire on the gas stove.That’s the only reasonable explanation as to why Colorado House Minority Leader Patrick Neville (R), who was a sophomore at Columbine High School when one of the first of the modern mass school shootings took place, is introducing legislation to eliminate gun-free zones in Colorado schools.”

 

Images and copy from a post I made 5 years ago are used in this posting.The prompt today is constant.