Assassin’s Bullet

 

 She was raised Catholic.

She went to Catholic School.

She got a decent education and a generous amount of Catholic guilt.

She used to pray, not for herself but for those she loved who were suffering

but after years of her prayers going unanswered

she abandoned that practice.

In the many years I have known her she seldom swore

and if she ever did, she would immediately apologize.

In the past several years she has been getting more into politics

and following the news more closely.

She is deeply concerned at the current state of our nation.

She swears more now.

She still apologizes.

I asked her if she ever prays anymore.

She hesitated then replied “I pray the assassin’s bullet finds its mark”.

Then she apologized profusely for saying that.

The Writing on The Wall

 

I became his grandfather by default. I am the biological grandfather of his older half-brother and half-sister and the three of them with their mother came to live with us after losing their housing.

The two older kids have always had bedrooms in our house and have spent long periods of time staying with us throughout their lives. He hadn’t spent much time with us and getting used to his new surroundings took some time. After the first month or so he became comfortable with us and his role in the family.

 

“My real grandfather died” he told me “So you’re my grandfather now”

 

I took on the role easily since the other two children had always known me as “Grampa” anyway.

 

He was quiet and reserved at first but he became more emboldened and more confident as time went by. He began to look what was in the closets. He opened drawers to see what was inside. He began to take snacks from the cupboards without asking anyone. He would leave his shoes and jacket on the floor in the middle of the room. Typical kid stuff.

 

I was also becoming more accustomed to having children living in the house again and I began feeling more at ease with the traditional grandfather role which occasionally included the need to discipline or admonish.

 

One afternoon I walked into the living room and caught my newest grandson writing on the wall.

 

“What are you doing?” I snapped. “You’re old enough to know better than to be writing on the wall.”

 

Surprised, he dropped the pencil and started crying.

 

“I’m sorry,” he replied “I don’t know why I did it. I’ll never do it again.”

 

Still a little angry, I sent him to his room to think about what he did. He went running off to his room. I could still hear him whimpering as I was in the kitchen gathering a sponge and some cleaning supplies.

 

 I returned to the living room to try and clean the wall. He had written on the dark wooden trim which surrounded the doorway. It wasn’t immediately clear what he had written but on closer inspection I was able to decipher what it said and my anger instantly turned into empathy.

 

 Three simple words: Home Sweet Home.

Childhood Heroes

 All of my childhood heroes are dead,

the famous ones,

the uncelebrated ones,

they're all gone now.

All but one;

my mother.

She is still alive.

She is old.

She is tired.

She is feeble and weak

but she is still funny

and kind

and she struggles to discern 

between reality and illusion.

Is it the medication 

or is it the disease ?

It matters not.

She drifts between worlds

and lives in both.

Oh, my father is still alive too.

 

300 Pieces

 start from the edges

one piece at a time 

no longer concerned with the big picture

but focusing on the piece at hand

it helps stops the shaking 

and seems to aid in keeping the hallucinations away 

at least for a while

but three-hundred pieces 

is a lot to take in all at once 

and she's been gone from her room

for thirty minutes or more 

the puzzle can wait

it will still be there tomorrow

so, she heads down the hallway, 

back to her room 

where there are hungry children 

that need her attention because only she can see them

and only she can hear them crying

Gold Miners

 they were old timers

they were gold miners

following another get rich scheme

packing up and heading west

doing what they thought was best

hoping to fulfill their wealthy dream

gold fever deep within the vein

sadly turning out the same

out of money they gave up their plan

going bust, they just stopped tryin'

left behind their rusty iron

leaving ugly scars upon the land

they were web designers

modern day forty-niners

mining from the corner office suite

checking fluctuating prices

trading crypto from devices

from towers made of steel and concrete

unlike the folks in forty-nine

they take risks of a different kind

livin' large in the land of milk and honey 

but as the clients lose their trust

the modern prospectors go bust

but they're losing other peoples' money 

Promises (Rondel)

 

making promises she can’t keep

she still hears voices in her head

echoing all the things she said

she’s given up on counting sheep

 

tells herself lies to help her sleep

with all those self-help books she’s read

making promises she can’t keep

she still hears voices in her head

 

depressing thoughts are running deep

she makes a different choice instead

some medication by the bed

as softly she begins to weep  

making promises she can’t keep

Carbon and Dust

 

we speak of life, of love, of lust 

we talk of loyalty and trust

of all the things that we discussed

we still end up carbon and dust

 

although we change, adapt, adjust

we shine the chrome, we scrape the rust

it’s so unfair, it’s so unjust

we still end up carbon and dust

 

we strive to do what’s right and just

we aim to do those things we must

and through life’s changes readjust

and still end up carbon and dust

 

we feel the wind, withstand the gust

we use its strength to give us thrust

to live a life that’s more robust

but still end up carbon and dust

Mixed Signals

 

more routine traffic stops

by aggressive, local cops

wrong time, wrong place

wrong color, wrong race

 “Get out of the car”

 “Stay right where you are”

 “Get down, Turn around”

“Place your hands upon the ground”

 “Keep your hands on the wheel”

“Put your hands on your head”  

and she reached for her tazor

but grabbed her gun instead  

“Tazor, tazor, tazor”

she yelled before she shot

a muzzle flash, a bullet passed

right through the victims heart

20 Below (Hutain)

 

gusts of wind begin to blow

eerily the trees are creaking

swirling, twirling powdered snow

I can hear the branches squeaking

trying to keep the heat from leaking

I place a blanket by the door

on the window frost is sneaking

we listen to the furnace roar

The People’s House (Triolet)

 

the people’s house is made of stone

a symbol of democracy

but now the seeds of hate are sown

the people’s house is made of stone

in places where these seeds have grown

we view total hypocrisy

the people’s house is made of stone

a symbol of democracy

Recovering Optimist

 

I view the world through rose colored glasses

rose colored drug dealers

rose colored racists

rose colored pedophiles

rose colored homophobes

rose colored murderers  

 

I see the glass as half full

half full of toxic drinking water

half full of radioactive isotopes

half full of lethal particles

half full of heavy metal molecules

half full of shit

 

I always look on the sunny side  

with blistering sunburn  

without sunscreen

and no sunglasses

as global temperatures rise

and the polar icecaps melt

Tires On Gravel

 

driving the back roads

tires on gravel

crackling of pebbles

under the wheels

an occasional car

from the other direction

we wave to each other

 it’s an unwritten rule

no one’s in a hurry

or they’d be on the main roads

windows rolled down

dog’s ears flapping in the breeze

 we keep on driving

through the dusty wake

until there’s nothing but clean air

and the crackling of pebbles

from tires on gravel

Uvalde (Villanelle)

 

nineteen innocent children died

as a young girl dials nine-one-one

good guys with guns waited outside

 

they scrambled for a place to hide

 nowhere to go, nowhere to run

nineteen innocent children died

 

with two brave teachers by their side

expecting help but there was none

good guys with guns waited outside

 

many young lives have been denied

from bullets fired from a gun

nineteen innocent children died

 

before the blood had even dried

someone’s daughter or someone’s son

good guys with guns waited outside

 

authorities already lied

but soon their lies would come undone

nineteen innocent children died

good guys with guns waited outside

April Showers?

a gentle rain against

the bedroom window

that rhythmic tapping

that can help you fall asleep

those delicate showers of April

 

but that’s not what this is

 

sheets of water

being driven by

a fierce southern wind

hitting the side of the house

like waves

against a rocky shore 

Because She Asked

 

As the pandemic progressed she opted for homeschooling

because “remote learning” wasn’t really working for her.

She was struggling with the demands of being a second grader

during those uncertain times. She spent three or four days a week

at Grampa’s house doing Science, Math and English.

One afternoon during our lunchbreak she had a serious look on her face as she said,

“Grampa, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course”, I answered.

“Grampa, if I get the virus and I “…

She didn’t want to use the word “die” so, she simply stopped mid-sentence

and pointed to the sky.

“if I go up there…will you go with me? ”

Choking back a tear I quickly responded.

“Yes, of course I’ll go with you.”

What else could I say?

Early Warning System

 

I’ve learned to trust the Blue Jay’s call

from overhead or forest deep

they warn of danger great or small

 

a warning that goes out to all

protecting chickens that I keep

I’ve learned to trust the Blue Jay’s call

 

a time or two that I recall

woken from my morning sleep

they warn of danger great or small

 

in summer, winter, spring or fall

their information’s what I reap

I’ve learned to trust the Blue Jay’s call

 

appear from nowhere like a squall

in trees above the compost heap

they warn of danger great or small

 

and standing by an old stone wall

I hear that same familiar peep

I’ve learned to trust the Blue Jay’s call

they warn of danger great or small

Have a Seat

 

Inactivity is the next health crisis.

Doctors say sitting is the new smoking.

Now I am worried about second hand sitting.

What if I’m stuck in a room with a bunch of sitters?

Will restaurants now have a sitting section?

Will they still allow sitting on airplanes?

I worry about the peer pressure my grandchildren will be under to sit.

“Come on, just try sitting this one time. Maybe you’ll like it.

All the popular kids sit.”

Will chairs now be required to have Government Health Warnings?

I guess I’ll just go for a walk and think about it.

Our Current Situation

 

the earth is still turning

the waves are still in motion

the forests are still burning

as the plastics fill the ocean

we can’t pretend we’re unaware

as the earth continues heating

while pumping carbon in the air

the glaciers keep retreating

we know the changes we must make

is there still time? is it too late?

for children’s and grandchildren’s sake

how much longer can we tempt fate?

Scars and Stars

 

while not all wounds result in scars

and often things can be concealed

not every night do we see stars

clouds or feelings act like a shield

sometimes the cuts we thought were healed

or constellations we can’t see

quickly return and are revealed

exposing things we can not flee

Thoughts About Sea Glass

 We walk the sand beaches

looking for sea glass

like so many others

drinking out of plastic bottles.

They don’t allow

glass containers on the beach

and through carelessness or neglect

much of this plastic

ends up in the ocean.

While offshore

they drill for oil

to produce petroleum

to make more plastic bottles.

So, now we walk along the shore

picking up plastic

while looking for sea glass-

pieces of colored glass

being tumbled by the motion of the waves

slowly polished by the sand,

the same sand from which glass is made