Wednesday, April 30, 2025

Poem: Purloining Power

Purloining Power

Oh, I know what you say: a great honor
It is to be elected legislator,
You get to write laws that we must foller
As we country bumpkins dwell in the holler.

Doesn’t it say in the constitution
An educated electorate is
Necessary for the good of common
Welfare in a democracy? It is.

Yet here you go writing laws to destroy
Schools and prevent in every way their
Ability to levy taxes, your ploy
To derail schools so we are unaware

That you have stolen the power from us
Who, as the people, need to be kept from
The darkness of an autocracy, plus
You say the Blaine Amendment is just some

Old fashioned way to keep God out of government
Because we must follow His ways as it
Says in the Bible. But wait, that’s a blunt
Way of forcing your beliefs down our throats.

The serpent was never as deceitful
As you, gently legislating away
Our democracy because it is well
Known you are honorable, as you say.

Forgive me if I don’t go out of my way
To kiss your hand that would slap the power
Out of my educated head, that way
You can have honor purloining power.

March 2023

About This Poem
I have had a negative feeling about the Idaho legislature's need to control local education and make demands while underfunding for years. This poem is my frustration about that. It seems that it's only getting worse. And I seriously do believe that many of the people in power are corrupt and want the populace to be uneducated so they are easier to control. Look at the American desire to believe the craziest of conspiracies! Just gets worse as we go. The photo is of the Senate Chambers in Boise.

 

Thursday, April 24, 2025

Poem: The Universe Converges at Dinner

The Universe Converges at Dinner

Around the dinner table the universe
Converges—gathers?—collects? Perhaps is?
The future sits down as past dishes out
Nourishment and the eternity of 
Generations finitely gathered to 
Celebrate infinity that brought them
Here to commune of things that do matter—
Never mind the fluff, the posturing of
Class or caste or whatever you call it—
Because each member gathered here can tell
Of things infinitely important like sense:
Smell, sight, touch, sound, and taste (for here we dine).
Of these we must not deny each other
While inexpressibly giving all our
Thanks for our communion through the senses
Of existence, that is something difficult—
That is inexpressibly beautiful
In its pain and pleasure because it is.
In our communion is our sustenance
Lead by recognition that it gives life
For which we must be eternally grateful.
It is here that we feast upon that known—
That divine power that has given us 
Existence that without we would be naught.
Bring here your burdens and all of your joys
For here you can be everything you 
Were meant to be, forgiven wholly now
For missing that point that you are forever
And you were meant to be nourished with His
Bread and wine, his body and blood always.

March 2023

 
About This Poem
This poem is clearly about communion in a Christian sense, but not necessarily in church. I feel like anywhere we dine together we are the two or three gathered in His name and that makes Him part of the dinner. Eating together is communion whether you are Christian or not. That's what this poem is about. I just happen to be a Christian so that's my approach. It also occurred to me that I could write an entirely different poem, or even a comical short story based upon this poem having next to nothing to do with communion in a spiritual sense. Maybe I'll do that... And the picture is of the dining room in the House of Seven Gables in Salem, Massachusetts. That could lend a bit of witchcraft to the communion, but I really am a muggle in spite of my name. But it is a nice dining room situation....


 

Wednesday, April 23, 2025

Poem: To Watch the Sunset


To Watch the Sunset

To watch the sunset
in a different part of the world
for the first time
is to see new colors,
shapes unknown before,
feelings new within your being,
youth renewed.

Step away from your own life
for awhile,
feel the intensity of living
and shake off the January frost
of routine becoming monotony.

A sunset on a prairie lake in Minnesota,
a change of the guard in Ottawa,
a little house on the South Dakota prairie,
an A frame in the Green Mountains of Vermont,
nestled in a deciduous forest
far removed from the Samaritan Mountains
of the desert of southern Idaho
and then to return and breathe 
the dry mountain sage as if
it were the first time.

January 2006

About This Poem:
I haven't posted on here this month, National Poetry Month, because I've been away in Hawaii being a beach bum. This poem, while not mentioning Hawaii or Kauai (where I was), touches on the importance of travel to me. So I wanted to share it here after my travels. The photo, while not a particularly beautiful sunset (though later it was) was from Poipu Beach where we were watching the return of the parakeets that roost in the palms there. So I hope this poem inspires you to take a trip, no matter how far or near.


 

Tuesday, April 1, 2025

Poem: Snow Fairies

Snow Fairies

In the silent hour of winter
Just before the black of night
When the last pinks and blues 
Have recovered themselves and 
Scuttled away from your sight,

Mothers and fathers have come home from work
And school children have brought home their studies.
The lamps have been lighted, the fires burn bright
Then snow fairies come out to play in delight.

November 2000

About This Poem
It's April Fool's Day, so I thought (since it has snowed both yesterday and today at times) that I should share a snow poem. I found this one in my journal and noticed a childlike sense of audience in it, probably because my boys were little when I wrote it. I like childlike poems and snow. So, since we're all tired of it, one last snow for the season. April Fools! 
The picture is, obviously, of snowflakes on my deck. The glitter of a true snow fairy is seemingly not photographable (like unicorns and other seemingly [but perhaps not] mythical beings) but snowflakes in all their intricate design are.


 

Tuesday, March 25, 2025

Poem: In Tandem

In Tandem

You mentioned having seen a Bald
Eagle yesterday coming home
From Spokane—or was it two? Yes,
One flying, you said, the other 
Guarding its prey. Then this morn
I read a poem “To a Lady”
All about falconry, those birds 
Of prey. He was on distant seas
Writing to his love what he thought
Were his last words and I don’t see
Falconry anywhere in it
Except those aboard the ship when
It was about to wreck, hence he
Thought he would die. I don’t even 
Know if he was Coleridge or
Fictional, though I know Sam died,
Not in a shipwreck, but perhaps, he
Knew ship of such named Falconry?
So my thoughts spin twixt you and me
And birds of prey and ships on sea
And poets long since died away
Except in their verse that lingers 
Still on page, in thought and memory.
I know these are not my last words
But, at times, it seems, we’re tossed
Upon a raging sea and there
Together we see two eagles
Wild and free together catching
Updrafts in the wind and floating
Sometimes in tandem and sometimes apart
Yet always together. That’s how 
We are.

January 2024


About This Poem
This poem is basically about how people grow together as they age in marriage. And, yes, it's about seeing Bald Eagles in the wild, which is fascinating to me because it is no longer rare. Growing up you just didn't see Bald Eagles. Now, perhaps, they will continue in tandem with us as something normal, not rare. Strange things like eagles, people--dead and living, land and water, have a way of intertwining here and it is something, like marriage, to celebrate. I don't know where I took this picture. It's just in my camera roll.
 

Monday, March 17, 2025

Poem: Faith or Control?


 Faith or Control?

One sometimes questions their own faith
(Which they should): Is there really a god?
Will snow ever cover the ground
This year? While memory dictates
The snow will return, it still
Questions the intervention of divinity.
One cannot prove events were not chance
Anymore than one can prove they were not.
But certainty dictates that one must be so
It’s quite contradictory to say one does know.
Yet men and women continue to teach
Children that all is true, though out of reach
Of mere man, but these precepts are how
God says we should live as written
In books they can’t even read
And the circuitous route to belief in God
Can often come off as some kind of fraud.
Can we assume belief is inherent 
When existence of God is not all apparent?
The truth is it’s faith, not certain,
Just as written precepts are hid by curtain
And someone certainly controls the show
That’s not of any god that we might know.

January 2024

About This Poem
I wrote this a little over a year ago and I don't really think it's ready for release, but here it is anyway. I have been questioning the role of religion in the government lately and how there is a growing trend among politicians here toward Christian Nationalism. It's in direct contrast with our constitution which they swore to defend, but until we vote them out we are stuck with it. As a Christian, I don't believe there can be "Christian Nationalism" for the reasons I describe in the poem. So while the poem is in its infant draft form, the ideas are relevant for now. And the picture is out my window this morning answering the question that yes, snow will cover the ground this year on March 17!

Friday, March 14, 2025

Poem: Made to Rage by Me


Made to Rage by Me

The night settled slowly
And I tossed and turned
Because you were not there.
Anger invaded my sleep and
I tossed and turned thinking
Of cruel things you had said 
To me.
    Gradually anger subsided
To drowsy dreams of lakes and waters
That always come to me in turmoil
And make me calm. Those waters
That always come to me in turmoil
And make me calm. Those waters
Drowned me in their care
And I slumbered until you came
To bed. Then again, I lay awake
Thinking you had been drinking,
Being still, perhaps angry with me.
But waters came quickly flooding in
And, again, I drifted off to sleep
While light snow gently fell outside.

When morning came I was awakened
By a phone call confirming an appointment
When I’d finished with the call
You told me you had been up 
Texting your dear friend
Who had lost her father
Sometime around midnight.

These little things come crashing in
Like violent storms within my mind, 
Yet typically they are made to rage
Not by reality, but by me.

January 2024

About This Poem

This is a poem about being angry at my wife for no reason, except my preconceived notions of what she is thinking which are too often wrong. But, as any married person knows, sometimes we do know what our spouse is thinking. And sometimes that makes us mad. But sometimes we are just wrong. After being married for several years you can learn a little bit about not only your spouse, but also yourself. That's what this poem is about, what I have learned about myself. And, of course, thinking about large bodies of water is my self soother which is why that's in this poem. The picture is the lake where Cooperstown, New York is.