Droplets – and Destiny?

Sometimes I wonder.

As I look back over my years and reflect on how clear things once seemed, then view today’s world through humanity’s imposed murkiness, questions invariably arise. What happened? Why? What’s next? What remains? Anything?

I’m reminded of four lines from the book of Job:

And where is now my hope?
As for my hope, who shall see it?
They shall go down to the bars of the pit,
When our rest together is in the dust.
(Job 17:15-16)

Dismal thoughts, those. Not at all suitable for anyone who cares more for clarity, for beauty, for hope itself than for the murkiness that defines so much of the human condition. There has to be a better way. But what?

Nature? Yes, but where in nature? Most everywhere works, of course. But embedded within ALL of life is that one major necessity: water. And curiously enough, water isn’t stationary like a rock, or a mountain, or a desert. It’s cyclical. Rain and snow lead to streams, to rivers, to the oceans, then to evaporation, to mists, then back to rain and snow, etc. It struck me that a given droplet may well, in fact, be made to serve as the perfect metaphor for ALL of life’s inevitable transits.

Following is my very own — simple — point of view, a means to dismiss our human-imposed murkiness of view and return to those moments of absolute clarity — as seen through the “eyes” of a water droplet.


Droplets — and Destiny?


The river runs always forward,
Fed by rains, rivulets, creeks, and streams above
it has no choice. It cannot reverse its flow
but must pay constant homage
to the sea which waits
For it is the sea which returns life,
renewed each day,
by droplets
— by rain, by snow —
on landfalls
far away.

The waters at the source are fresh
and young
and clear.
Mountaintops are like that, too.
Trees and flowers drink their fill ‘neath clear or cloudy skies,
then allow all unused droplets to wander
ever downward,
as if to repay all debts owed
the sea.

As dew drop pays homage to the flower
it surely comes to sense the edge of beauty
and even, perchance, of love.
But finally, left uncaptured, it slowly slides away
to join a rivulet
a stream
a river
and waters become muddy and murky.
Still, the droplet persists
and though it carries soils to the sea upon its back
it must know
that while soils sink to the bottom to provide a home for worms,
itself will rise again to fall as rain or snow
perchance upon a mountainside,
and live to once more caress a flower
as droplet

Poppies with water droplet

I know of dew
— and clarity —
for in my youth I nurtured a rose
whose beauty shall evermore remain as if a crystal vision.
But then I joined the rivulet, the creek, and the river of life,
to flow inexorably toward the sea, my destiny,
my homage to be paid.

In my passage,
as the waters about me became muddy,
I came to know I’d left my youth behind.
For in youth there is but clarity,
no murkiness.

Now, as destiny directs,
I await my next traverse,
to be carried on warm breath of wind back to the mountaintop
where I shall
— this time —
spot the perfect flower.
And because I have known, through previous passage,
the clarity of beauty, and too, of love,
I shall know to wait
until she opens slightly, and then
I shall fall upon her heart and nurture her,
to be absorbed by her until,
together at last,
we return to dust
and remain forever as one —
Our destinies


Posted in Photos, Poetry | Leave a comment

Imagery, Echoes, and Memories

Below is a link to an ‘experiment’ of sorts, one that I’ve been pondering and pursuing, now and then, for the last 3-4 decades: the effect that a combination of two separate emotion-grabbing artful inputs, i.e. verbal  (poetic/sonnet) and visual (photographic) can bring forth at a given moment. I’ve long felt that a photograph can be ‘seen,’ in poignant context, as a ‘Poem Without Words,’ also that a major function of poetry is to evoke poignant images. The question remains: can the combination prove to be more than just the sum of its parts?

The attached work entitled “Imagery, Echoes, and Memories” is the result of said project, and contains 22 original sonnets (a variety of ‘ideas’), each paired with an idyllic nature photograph (all but two of which are completely free of human intrusion). In no case, however, did the ‘idea’ behind any photograph inspire the paired sonnet, or v.v.; each and all originated in two totally different worlds, totally unconnected by anything other than the person responsible for exploring and documenting what he ‘saw’ in those worlds.  With luck, each combination can prove to be, at least to the sensitive and inquisitive mind, more than just the sum of its parts.

Imagery Cover rev(Click the photo to follow the link)





Posted in Arizona, Colorado, Desert, Photos, Poetry, Polynesia, Sonnets | Leave a comment

The Apostatic Creed

After Comey’s firing, White House openly pushes for conclusion of FBI’s Russia investigation

Gripping headline, that one. Made me think that before all this Trump Reign (Trump Rain??) is over, he may declare it mandatory that all of us “skeptics” had better switch tracks and spout our allegiance to the genius and grandeur of our new Führer, the former Orange Shitgibbon, or “It vill be da verse for you.”

So. Here it is. My effort to help each and all of Progressive mindset become the equivalent of a religious Apostate, to offer (at no charge!) the means to demonstrate abandonment and renunciation of those core beliefs, of that Democratic Credo, to substitute the pretense of embracing the contrasting stupidity of, for lack of a better word, Trumpissm.

Please understand the difficulty of the process, how hard it is to spout the pure BS demanded by illiterate ‘strongmen’ such as those who define today’s Republican Party. I know there must be the occasional faux pas embedded, but since only Progressives have the mentality to spot a faux pas in the first place, there’s no need to worry.

Good luck, and remember: this is to make HIM feel good, not you!



I believe!

I believe in the Donald J. Trump!

(May, 2017)

I believe in Donald J. Trump, our almighty  Prophet  Profit who sitteth on the Throne of his Sainted Peter, aka the throne of Amurkkka!


I believe in the Holy Ghosts of Richard Nixon and Ronald Reagan! I believe that their collective  dementia  wisdom persisteth through this very day and prospereth well in other equally  hollowed  hallowed minds including (but clearly not limited to) those named Pence, Ryan, McConnell, Bannon, Chaffetz, Nunes, Issa, Cruz, Sessions, DeVos, … the list of Grand Republicans is interminable!

I believe in the Holy Christer Nation called Amurkkka and in her God named Profit! I believe in the rape of the environment for our Profit’s sake! I believe in the oppression of we the people for Profit! I believe in the theft for our Profit of any and all resources public and private! I believe in the mining of wilderness, the logging-off of forests, offshore drilling, and the paving of land anywhere and everywhere when Profit is the reward! I believe in unlimited air and water pollution and in the tailpipes, smokestacks, sewer pipes, and politicians that produce same, all for our Holy Profit! I believe in our Great Profit’s future thanks to the sale of National Parks and wild lands to miners and drillers and developers! I believe that Saint Reagan’s Interior Secretary (and super-fine Republican) James Watt was spot-on correct when he said, “God gave us these things to use! After the last tree is felled, Christ will come back!” Yay!

I believe, too, in other  quasi-religious quackeries  Religious Freedoms, including Intelligent Design, the overturning of Roe v. Wade, the prohibition of Birth Control, all together with a constitutionally-mandated hatred of Homosexuals and Transgenderinos! I believe Public Education is the Work of the Debbil! and must be treated as such! I believe in Junk Science, especially when it disavows global warming or quits protecting endangered species BECAUSE: there’s a lot more Profit to be made when there are no (legal) consequences that get in the way of the process of making money!

I believe in the Wealthy and in their right to destroy all else in favor of their own comfort! I believe in WAR!! I believe in imperialism, and in the theft of needed resources from any other land on the globe! I believe it’s the Right of the Wealthy to start wars even as it’s their right to avoid fighting in them! I believe it’s the Right of the Wealthy to force the poor and the powerless to fight in their place and to die, to be permanently maimed or driven insane in the process (I mean, who really cares, you know?)! I believe it’s the Right of the Wealthy to enjoy any and all privilege and to deny all others the same through any level of chicanery, legal or illegal! I believe that The Law applies NOT to the Wealthy, only to everybody else!

I believe in massive government Power! I believe in unlimited profligate and wastrel spending, and especially in the Orwellian doublespeak lingo it takes to cover up, to mask, and to always deny the Fascistic Union of Government Power with Corporate Profit! I believe it is the duty of the masses to work always on behalf of Power and Profit for the Few! I believe that unlimited Power of the Few is necessary to promote the unlimited Power of the State both at home and around the globe! I believe that the Power of the State and the Power of the Few are one with Profit, therefore are one with God Hisseff! (He who sits atop his Sainted Peter whilst on the Throne! Damn, that felt good!)!

I believe in the Second Amendment, but not the other twenty-six! Instead, I believe that the Constitution is exactly as Donald J. Trump has said, that “It’s really a bad thing for the country”! I further believe that the constitutionality of the words “high crimes and misdemeanors” (as reasons to impeach a President) refer only to Oval Office blow jobs and have nothing to do with political malfeasance of any kind, including the (warrantless) final and total theft of all liberties and freedoms of Americans everywhere, including taking health care away from its lazy bums!

I believe in the H-Bomb and in Amurkkka’s right to use it (or threaten to) on anyone who pisses us off, especially when those who piss us off ain’t white, and/or when they look like Chinamen! I believe that spending more money on “defense” (i.e. WAR!) than the next dozen nations combined is necessary to keep Amurkkka free and to ensure forever Yuge Profits! And we’re gonna BUILD THAT WALL And keep them Spics out of Amurkkka!

I believe that “thinking” is a left-wing-liberal-pinko plot! I believe in the emergent Teabagger Fascism which requires no “thinking” at all, only obedience: Amurkkka über alles!! (to coin a phrase)! I believe in NASCAR, Christmas, Columbus, and the Super Bowl (so long as some black chick doesn’t sing and dance in front of white folks), but not in Martin Luther King and all the dirt he done! I believe that guns, “quads,” dirt bikes, snowmobiles, and even the “Minutemen” are the greatest Creations in all of history! Gifts from God The Profit! YeeHaw!

I believe! I’m a Trumpisst! I’m a REPUBLICAN, and my slogan is
as Simple as ME:

I Got Mine!! Screw Everybody Else, and . . .

Make Amurkkka Great Again!




Posted in "President" Trump, Fascism, Politics, Teh Stupid | Leave a comment

Bill of Rights Revisions — For Trump!

I recently ran across some current blog posts that refer to Trump’s apparent disdain for certain Constitutional precepts along with possible (screwball) solutions that would solve his problems:

Who’s To Blame For Trump’s Failed First 100 Days? The Constitution, Of Course

Trump’s blamed the constitutional checks and balances built in to US governance for his utter failure. He said: “It’s a very rough system. It’s an archaic system … It’s really a bad thing for the country.”

Sean Spicer Confirms White House Considering Destruction Of First Amendment

Historian Timothy Snyder: “It’s pretty much inevitable” that Trump will try to stage a coup and overthrow democracy

It’s also common knowledge that Trump wants to break up the 9th Circuit Court of Appeals (which is NOT within Presidential purview) simply because they’re traditionally Liberal, and because they’ve ruled against one of his Executive Orders. Curiously enough, however, there are also faction(s) of the Republican Party that would like to set up a Constitutional Convention so they could rid the Constitution of stuff that does not, technically, allow or endorse their Fascist goals.

Coincidentally, I’ve spent the last month or two going through piles of stuff I’ve written in the past, trying to organize, etc., and in the process ran across something I penned back in ’06 as response to Dubya’s “Unitary Executive” (read: President Empowerment) hopes and plans. I thought it might help him and the GOP rewrite the Bill of Rights in a way that would accomplish their empowerment goals. I sent a copy of it to my then Senator John McCain along with the suggestion that he hand carry it to the White House. Since Bush’s second term was set to expire following the rapidly approaching ’08 election, however, I figured that was the reason why I never heard back.

Anyway, that was then and this is now, today — barely more than 100 days into Trump’s first term — so there should be plenty of time for them to get things done, to get rid of those always nagging Constitutional barriers. I decided, therefore, that I should once again offer my services, so here’s my 2006 rewrite of the Bill of Rights, slightly adjusted to help Trump with stuff that nags him more than it nagged Dubya, but all written with the most powerful version of the Unitary Executive in mind. (Further Suggestions Welcome, btw.)


Suggested Revisions to the Constitution’s Bill of Rights

(First Offered April 14, 2006; Revisions Updated May 1, 2017; by Frugalchariot)

Article I.

Congress shall make no law that doesn’t respect our established Christian religion, or prohibits mandatory exercise thereof; or any law that allows the freedom of speech, or of the press, to include criticism of the President; or that allows the people to peaceably assemble without being watched, or to petition the Government for a redress of faux grievances.

Article II.

An unregulated Militia, being necessary to deny freedoms in a secure State, mandates that the right of the people to keep and bear Arms can only be infringed when deemed necessary by the Unitary Executive.

Article III.

No Soldier shall, in time of peace be quartered in any house, without the consent of the Owner, nor in time of war, but in a manner to be prescribed by law.

Article IV.

The right of the people to be secure in their persons, houses, papers, and effects, against unreasonable searches and seizures, is hereby denied, and no Warrants need issue, though upon probable cause and supported by Oath or affirmation of the Unitary Executive when particularly describing the place to be searched, any persons or things can be seized.

Article V.

No person shall be held to answer for a capital, or otherwise infamous crime, unless insisted upon by the Unitary Executive, except in cases arising in the land or naval forces, or in the Militia, when in actual service in time of War or public danger, unless insisted upon by the Unitary Executive; nor shall any person be subject for the same offence to be twice put in jeopardy of life or limb, unless insisted upon by the Unitary Executive; nor shall any person be compelled in any criminal case to be a witness against himself, nor be deprived of life, liberty, or property, without due process of law, unless insisted upon by the Unitary Executive; nor shall private property be taken for public use, without just compensation, unless insisted upon by the Unitary Executive.

Article VI.

In all criminal prosecutions, the accused shall enjoy the right to a speedy and public trial, by an impartial jury of the State and district wherein the crime shall have been committed, which district shall have been previously ascertained by law, and to be informed of the nature and cause of the accusation; to be confronted with the witnesses against him; to have compulsory process for obtaining witnesses in his favor, and to have the Assistance of Counsel for his defence, unless or until challenged by the Unitary Executive.

Article VII.

In Suits at common law, where the value in controversy shall exceed twenty dollars, the right of trial by jury shall be waived, and no fact tried by a jury, shall be otherwise re-examined in any Court of the United States if it applies to any corporation with a net profit which equals or exceeds its annual contribution to the private account(s) of the Unitary Executive.

Article VIII.

Excessive bail shall be required on the written consent of the President, and excessive fines may be imposed along with cruel and unusual punishments inflicted on the whim of the President, the Unitary Executive..

Article IX.

The enumeration by legal counsel, of certain rights may be presumed the purview of the Unitary Executive, and shall always be construed to deny or disparage all rights retained by the people.

Article X.

The powers not delegated to the United States by the Constitution, nor prohibited by it to the States, are reserved for use only by the Unitary Executive at his sole discretion, and never to the people.


Note that I left Article III untouched. Trump hasn’t said anything about that particular provision yet, so I figured it’s best to let him decide on any changes.


Posted in "President" Trump, Politics | Leave a comment

Poetry: Sonnets

The Oxford English Dictionary defines “Poetry” as a “literary work in which special intensity is given to the expression of feelings and ideas by the use of distinctive style and rhythm.”  According to Literary Terms, a Sonnet is “a fourteen line poem with a fixed rhyme scheme. Often, sonnets use iambic pentameter: five sets of unstressed syllables followed by stressed syllables for a ten-syllable line. Sonnets were invented by the Italian poet Giacomo da Lentini during the 1200s. The word sonnet is derived from the Old Occitan phrase sonnet meaning “little song.”

The Sonnet is, to me, an explicit poetic art form, a “painting” of sorts. And though it’s composed of written words on paper rather than oil paints or water colors on canvas, the finished product is similarly enclosed within a sturdy “frame,” i.e. a strict limit on its physical size. Its structure, as defined in ‘Literary Terms’ noted above, makes the sonnet sound as though it must be horribly confining and possessed with none of the fluidity of other poetic styles, but that’s definitely not the case.

A typical Sonnet in, e.g., Shakespearean format, expresses a “theme” — a premise or an idea, plus analysis — in its three rhyming- and syllable-defined quatrains, then typically ends with summary or conclusion in the terminating pair of lines, the rhyming couplet. The Shakespearean rhyming scheme is always the same: abab-cdcd-efef-gg. Other Sonnet formats can have different and varied rhyming patterns, but each and every form still contains,  with one exception (the so-called  Fourteener), a total of 140 syllables in its fourteen iambic lines.

Below are 32 Sonnets that I’ve written over the last 2 – 3 decades. Topics include “impressions” (and blends) of subjects such as war, death, life, friendship, love, beauty, nature, prehistory, the surreal, plus even recent and current politics. All but one (Of Man; Of Wolf) use the Shakespearean rhyming sequence; the odd-man-out’s rhyme scheme is abba-cddc-effe-gg, sometimes called the “Bowlesian” or “Australian” rhyming pattern.

Here they are, uninterrupted by further description or comment:

No More

One wearies of incessant Voice of war.
Across full breadth of time each nom de guerre
Inflicts upon the Human soul a scar
Which screams in mockery of hallowed prayer.
How many millions must we finally kill
Before is learned this simple quirk of fate:
That murdered dead, in valley or on hill,
Do NOT portend a Greatness in The State?
Upon this Earth of monuments and tombs
Which weep for fallen souls, it’s fair to shout
NO MORE! to darkness that forever looms
In constant threat. And let there be no doubt
Of this – War’s burdens hang upon the Cross
Of senseless death – in silent, wretched, loss.


In Memoriam
of those who died before their time

One wonders if they ever heard the cry.
The sound, the summons, which to faithful says:
Your God has called, your time is come to die
And travel on – conclusion of your days
On earth, the end of all familiar things –
Your Lives, your Loves, interred now, sans the pain
Inflicted by ungodly bands of kings
Who find their purpose in despotic shame.
So now all living walk upon a cache –
Abysmal graveyards – globally extant,
Concealing flesh and bone returned to ash
From which it came. Tears want to flow, but can’t
As souls of murdered dead now roam – set free –
And living close their eyes: Afraid to see.


The Vietnam Memorial
Washington, D.C.

Embedded in the ground, a blackened stone
Pays tribute to the fallen – those described
As hallowed dead – their souls departed, gone,
Now ashes in the wind. Their names – inscribed
Precisely – carved as if by hand of God
To ornament the rock, still whisper words
Of love to friends who seem to find it odd
That stone can weep, and too, the songs of birds.
There is no glory buried here beneath
This blackened stone, nor flesh, nor bones. But still,
One feels that sculpted names did each bequeath
A challenge only living can fulfill –
Exist in peace with all upon your Earth,
Since you won’t know, till death, what Life was worth.


The Vietnam Memorial II
a whisper from the wall

The flowers in the vase allay my fears.
She placed them, quite precisely, near my name
Here etched in stone. Her eyes are filled with tears,
Full knowing that it’s I who’ve lost the game
Of life, my place on Earth reduced to this.
I pray she knows our Spirits still are one,
That touch, and tears, and even winsome kiss
Remain forever locked, though breath is gone.
It’s peaceful here despite the constant pain
Of losing her. How easier for birds
To sing, for blackened clouds to spill their rain,
Than through this stone it is to speak these words:
I love you still, you’re always part of me –
And that can’t change – in this Eternity.


Requiescat In Pace

All Living wonder how it feels to die,
To cross the bar, to bid farewell to things
Of Life and Love, to gasp that final sigh
Appropriate to Commoners – and Kings.
Your journey – ended now – opines that life
Be filled with warmth, not chill, that Destiny
Embraces Soul in passage, free of strife,
To final resting place: Eternity.
What worth remains for those whose scant reward
Is Death? You’ve offered us your Psalm, and taught
That breath refines the mind, and damn the sword
That slays it! Life, you’ve shown, is not for naught
When Love of others fills their hearts with glee.
May Peace embark – with you – from Heaven’s Quay.


Halcyon Memories
and ghosts

Hidden deep within the veiled dusts of time,
Halcyon memories lie – gathered by
Ghosts of those who once enjoyed life’s sublime
Realities, where love seemed but a sigh.
And now the sighs have turned to muffled tears –
Shed – in sparse, soft, moments – in faint recall
Of dreams and happiness – those vanished years –
Now ever masked behind life’s dusty pall.
Time has no mandate but to fly on wings
Of passage, aiming always at the vast
Darkness which lies beyond the end of things –
Where light glows but through loves known in the past.
Lament the dusty pall, the fears it bared,
But not the life and love that once you shared.



Admittedly, I grasp for words when I
Attempt to speak of Love and things akin —
It seems my feelings often run awry.
And though emotion from my heart within
Still clings to thought of you, I’m unaware
Of how to say those things I see and know.
My love, you’ve given me this cross to bear,
Its feathered weight – relentlessly – I tow.
Still, often do I thank the Gods above
For wordlessness. I can’t foresee a fate
More kind than offers burden born of love –
So light – compared with burden born of hate.
I break my silence now, and say to You
Your Soul is bright – and Wondrous be the hue.



Wild flowers bloom on hillsides in the Spring.
They savor warmth, and life, and gentle breeze,
And filled their hearts are, blessed by buzzing wing.
Thus essence bridles forth – though never sees
Dark clouds which loom beyond the summered hill.
With patience, winter frost awaits his prize –
Stealthily, as the tiger seeks to kill
The lamb, he holds his breath – in cold surprise.
Who can rescind the fate to end all fates?
We live, and love, and glory in the bloom
Of life. No soul alive e’er hesitates
Upon life’s road, in journey toward the tomb.
Like flow’r, we disavow – as petals fall –
That final death which lives within us all.


Dark and Life

When darkness slips inside the end of day
And waning light extinguishes the sky,
There lives, in Dark, a light which deems to play
With shadows, speaking forth with passioned sigh.
For some, the dark of night insists a fear
That soul’s at risk, though others sense the dawn
Scant hours away. For most, when light appears
Again, both sadnesses and fears are gone.
The love of life and land is catalyst
Which alters lives of all who dare believe
That dark is naught but shadowed light. Insist
That brilliance be a wondrous gift – receive
Its breath and give in measure, so to learn,
That life shines bright through darkness – in return.



In Springtime, Manzanita calms one’s sense
With flaunt of color, shape, and form’s repose –
Conveyed with vivid flash of sentience
To all who see that every breeze which blows
Instructs each dancing bloom: “Communicate
Life’s earnest quests, its ever-wondrous goals.”
Ethereal concepts, thus revealed, create –
Upon each flow’r – reflections of our Souls.
And Muses too, embedded there within
Each tiny bit of beauty, dare imbue,
Along with Truth and Love, those once again
Delights which shift one’s thoughts to sense anew;
Each bloom becomes a poem which lends, to me,
Divined sweet light – and images of thee.


Xeric Xanadu:
A Paradise of Paradox

Paradise is Paradox: When silence
Affords the wistful mind a sense of soft
Rapture born of sand and rock, when intense
And windblown multi-colored clouds aloft
Drop scant rains on arid lands, life begins.
O’er deserts vast, beyond the winter’s edge,
Xanadus of xeric floral xanthins —
Profusive sprawls of hue-struck landscape — pledge
Another season rich of life, a year
Reduced in size and scope, till moment when
Aridity and heat-waves reappear.
Determined though it is to thrive again,
On withered wing, on waves of blist’ring heat,
Xanadu joins Paradise – in retreat.


Of Flower and Mist

Drowned within the shroud of eternal sky
Essence lives, dressed in softest shimmering white.
Beauty is the flow’r which, in garden, lies
Beside the rippling stream where mists are light.
Infinity collects in droplets. Dew,
Ensconced in winsome grasp breathes soft fragrance
And sweet scent of life to all who dare view
Nature’s gift of love, in her wind-kissed dance.
Defilers are not welcome, for Beauty
Pursues naught but Truth and Love – her message:
Enter not unless you share this with me!
Render unto me your heart-sought passage;
Receive me as the soul of life and Love,
Yet gentle be – approach with velvet glove.


Of Man; Of Wolf

The mountain throws a livid purple haze
As waning sunlight strays across the skies
And skims a craggy ridge. Man’s towers rise
From valley’s darkened floor as if ablaze
In ego – soaring – bluster unconstrained
By reason – or by feigned humilities.
Beyond the morrow’s sunrise where the trees
Stand tall, the lone wolf’s paw print, water-stained,
Confirms his passage o’er a sandy trail.
Instinctive stealth, the weapon of his choice,
And fearsome howl – the bête noire of voice –
Explain to men why man, himself, must fail:
“My birthright is to live! Run wild! Run free
Of shackled chains! . . . No wonder You fear Me!


Paradox of Humankind:
Superior Inferiority

Brash vanity ordains that Mankind be
Superior to all other life on Earth;
The curious source of this Mythology
Is Biblical – man’s fount of wisdom’s dearth.
Thus bold is he who advocates the case
Of Genesis errant, where metaphor,
As whimsical devise, cannot replace
Realities which each confirm the Core
Of Life: that every living form appeals
To substance greater than itself alone.
A single flash of intellect reveals
One Truth, as if inscribed in tempered stone:
Each bird and beast, each flowered weed, each tree
Expounds on Man’s Inferiority!


To A Friend
a simple wish

Emotion seems to drive the human soul
Through darkness born within, or light above.
Yet light, not dark, remains the fairest goal
Of those who understand the worth of love
And what it means for self to freely give
That smallest touch of joy. To love, to feel
Each moment of the days one has to live
Are life’s rewards, and psalm of light is real.
And so, I hold my glowing lamp for you
Upright, that darkness leave on wing of prayer,
That troubles cease. Forever may the hue
Of Happiness assuage your every care
And fear in mind of those you love, all part
Of me – Illuminations – in my Heart.



I see your words on written page, then view
The stars in darkened sky as points of light –
Outpourings of your heart in cosmic queue.
As thoughts of love illuminate my night,
My soul is drawn to yours and begs to be
Like river, mountain borne, in constant flow,
In search of the embrace of azure sea
Where life renews in steadfast mystic glow.
Sweet be the passage of this life, for I’ve
Come to know my soul is outward bound toward
Waiting arms of thee, that when I arrive,
The glow within your heart is my reward.
My prayer is this: may journey never cease
Till we are one, our souls embraced – in peace.



Deserted though by gods we often feel,
Eden beckons, still, through sea’s quiet mist.
Born we are to sail life’s frigate, sans keel,
Before the Mother Wind – our ship at list.
Internal light is all we have as guide,
Except for things already taught and learned.
And so it is, through instinct and with pride,
No single voyage in this life we’ve spurned.
Now Love has grown within us, and we see
So many Truths unveiled, not known before;
Mists part, and grant rebirthed reality
In Eden’s sea – soft waves upon her shore.
There, distant rainbows hold but one surprise:
How beautiful is Eden through our eyes.


The Mother Wind

The Mother Wind is birthed on open sea,
And then begins her transit toward the shore
Which waits her winsome breath. Eternity
Is hers alone. Her face reflects the door
Through which both past and future might be viewed
By those who dare to brave her chill. Her voice,
As Wisdom, whispers soft to minds thus queued,
And only empty souls cannot rejoice
Her message: “Serenity deep within
Each self returns the glow of life like kiss
Of wave upon eternal shore. Begin
Each morn in my embrace, forget not this:
Revere the softness in the love of two
Become conjoined – to that one heart be true!”



The breaking dawn makes scarce a sound, and yet
Awakens Earth below while noiseless dew
Shares selflessly its essence, to beget
Moist softness in the grass. In distant view
The mountaintop is cloaked in snow, with not
An echo audible as lands each flake
To form a shroud of white. Each star, each dot
Of light In nighttime’s sky, dares not forsake
The feelings manifest in souls below,
Yet silently, each echoes Love to cleave
The grip of loneliness. I sense the glow
Reflective in your eyes, and then retrieve
Those joys you freely give – and I rejoice
In all the Love which echoes in your voice.


Dust and Snow

Delight in life and love so often seems
Elusive to those hearts which dwell within
Bodies born of Dust. Endlessly, such dreams
Become a veiled reality, a din
Inside the soul which bares the inner light.
Exactly as the winter Snows enclose
All grey, returning world to brilliant white,
No darkness falls in dreamland’s soft repose.
No thing in life means more than touch of love,
So as the Snow collects like Dust on trees
My spirit soars on summer’s feathered dove
In search of thee, in quest of subtleties
That only we have shared – my heartsought prize,
How warm the love – reflected in your eyes.



Alone, I watch as dawn’s illumined finger
Spreads crystal dance of light on wave and sand
Where impressions of our love still linger,
And breeze recalls the softness of your hand –
Your touch – which deep within my soul awoke
The ancient kiss of mist upon the sea.
Your essence brushed me, softly, to evoke
Eternal sense of peace – and mystery.
How beautiful, as glist’ning of your hair
Became starlight, to know your soul and heart
Were one with mine. No bounty is so fair
As that. Yet now we find ourselves apart –
For I awakened, realized anon,
‘Twas but a dream. And you, my love, were gone.



How often does the human spirit cry
In search of comfort, peace, or warmth for heart,
Or feelings which bring tears to stolid eye?
Such Truths and Beauties constitute a part
Of Life itself, and souls have much to gain
In sharing kindred dreams which they possess;
For any life can build on either pain
And dark, or otherwise on Happiness.
So, enter thee, dear love, into my life,
Pray, let your glow illuminate my door –
Enlighten me! Dispel the darkness, rife
Within my heart. And may, forevermore,
The presence of your warmth define the role
Of Love as an Oasis – for our Soul.


Luz: The Light

A thread of light persists as darkness falls;
Luz, life’s subtle flame, shines forth as beam cast
Sharp through reality’s ere darkened pall,
Revealing hints of living soul’s repast.
In darkness, too, the whispers of the muse –
Silent intonations, though heard before –
Evoke reflections of lives lived; a ruse?
Fires sensed by those who live become as cores,
Pure shafts of light. Collections of past times
Not readily dispelled arouse the Source –
The Souls of those long gone returned as mimes,
Intoning memories of Luz, a force
No darkness can conceal, nor dare it try
Extinguish light with shadow – or with cry.


Written on the Wind

To feel each season’s breath upon one’s face
Is manifest delight when gentle rains –
With fragrances intact – recall embrace
Of absent love. The breaking dawn explains
With vivid hue the mysteries of the heart,
And stirs those passions deep within the soul
Which harbor love, though lovers be apart.
The nighttime sky displays eternal goal
Of life – soft points of light – illumined glow
Of reunited kindred hearts which cry
No more in loneliness, yet somehow know
Eternity embodies passioned sighs.
If death be final, dare it not rescind
These messages, as written on the wind.


Elegy on America
The Legacy of George W. Bush:
Gone, Wasted, Broken

Gone now, America’s halcyon days
Where Reason stood tall and grand in the sun;
Brilliance defined Her equanimous ways –
Gone now, expunged, all Her triumphs hard won.
E. Pluribus Unum: Her goal was clear.
One chosen from many, She alone rose
Reflecting the grandeur of cause sincere –
Gone now, forever corrupted by woes:
Environments: Poisoned with gas and fume;
Waters: Mercurial, deadly as wars;
Broken: A people, too cold to exhume;
Uberty: Ceded to desolate shores.
Still, some see not what others are mourning:
Haste become greed become waste – sans warning.


The Odyssey of Nemo
Of Nobody
Of Willard M. Romney
With Much Regret

When greed defines a nominee’s malaise,
Implicitly, the nation’s fortunes loom
Like mountains visible through brownish haze,
Like oceans’ breakers crashing in the gloom
And doom of icy or cyclonic storm.
Republics and Democracies succumb;
Death assumes a barbarous pose, its form
Most certainly the product of those numb
Regurgitations from dead minds, unsheathed.
Oh death, where is thy sting?’ the poet asked.
My sword’s malaise of greed to you bequeathed,’
Nemo responds, his vapid soul unmasked.
Eternal passage thus abruptly halts,
Yet Nemo cannot lead – he’s crazed with faults.


Donald J. Trump and His Egomaniacal Presidency, Defined
[via an Acrostic Fourteener Quatorzain]

Democracy allows a boundless breadth of mindless thought.
One brief glance today unmasks a President who deems to
Never claim to own the vicious speech he hopes will be bought
And sold as Truth. Whilst he himself wears masks of learned view,
Lengthy rhetoric from speaker thus afflicted reveals
Dismal platitudes, each expressed as if nonsensical
Judgment of those who are more sane, of those whose thought appeals
To wisdom, not to ignorance of issues topical.
Racial bigots find curious relief in hate and fear
Until they find themselves dismissed by soft impassioned dreams;
Misogyny as well appeals to minds that aim to smear
Perspectives based on common goals of life – with bogus schemes.
Deliv’rance of this nation’s soul and heart is thus on hold
Till egomania’s greed and sloth are disappeared – or sold.


A Trump-Inspired National Elegy

Greed and Sloth have once again prevailed, their
Onerous goals retained by vulgar vote;
Once again America’s soul stands bare,
Delib’rately exposed as addled moat
Beneath her people, once defined as great.
Yet there remains a choice; to quote Voltaire,
Écrasez l’infame” (Crush the furtive State)
And grant Relief to all from hate’s despair
Made manifest by sophistic fear. Still,
Exercise of faux imperiousness
Results in cultural demise of will
In all but those possessed by mindlessness.
Calumny (Trump, our President-Elect)
Assigns ALL Truth to Perfidy-Select.



Requiem, as dirge of sophistic love,
Exposes destinies which nations earn.
Quoth Hamlet: “conscience doth make cowards of
Us all” – that is, till We the People learn,
Implicitly, that human Cowardice
Exudes contempt for Rationalities.
Meanwhile, mankind’s destiny – Avarice –
Appears in service to those Vanities
Most shallowed minds presume to be their right,
Enabling failure thus of Self, of State.
Repression blooms and quickly dims all light
Intrinsic to the heart of Freedom’s Fate –
Consumed – whilst words of Truth, now specious, Moan . . .
And stand as lifeless slogans . . . etched in stone.


The Vanished Ones

The voices of the Vanished Ones still speak
Through missives born of dust and scribed in stone,
Available to all who dare to seek
Their enigmatic wisdom – practiced – gone.
They understood the message in the winds,
In waters issued forth by rain and creek;
And too, in governance of thinking minds
Which found, in night-time sky, the means to seek
And so to know the times to glean, to sow.
They learned the paradox, the consequence
Of bounty’s waste; with Nature thus a foe,
Their cities turned to dust. There’s no defense
Of aftermath which overuse portends:
Diminishment of resource – Means – the Ends.


Voices in the Wind

Though modern ears seem deaf to primal song,
Ideas seek – and probe – subconscious minds.
Where spirits walk, old muted voices long
To search – as dust now gathered by the winds –
To speak in silence, whispering to souls
Their sacred manifests of unsung dreams.
Then Suffrage of the land – through Gray Wolf’s howls
And breath of noiseless Deer – expresses themes
As surely as the murmur of the trees
Announces wind and wingéd life, in kind.
And silently as Eagle rides the breeze,
These messages – the Sum of Life – remind:
Man’s aimless, modern Din shall ne’er transcend
The Wild – and Ancient – Voices – in the Wind.


Elegy on Elysium
Remembering Emily Dickinson

Embedded in the chambers of the Soul
Must lurk one tear to salve that Final Fate.
Immortality – sham – pretends the goal:
Life! Everlasting! Granted at the Gate!
Yet moments slowly slip away as life
Declines in worth. Sagacity must wane
In stark proportion to the weight of strife –
Collective triumph? Victory? Or gain?
Knowledge of finality is crossroad
Incarnate souls can only try perceive.
No salvage is available for load
So heavy, which Circumference dares reprieve
On buzzing Wing as Soul takes Final Flight –
Not closure, just a sense of Dark – or Light?


I closed with my ‘Elegy on Elysium’ (acrostic) sonnet in order to ‘Remember’ Emily Dickinson, the nineteenth century American poet who was then — and remains — the pinnacle of America’s greatest poets. And even though she never, in her nearly 1800 poems, wrote a sonnet, she consistently demonstrated both the magic and power of poetry as the art form she could most effectively use to explore her own “inner vision” and those perceived “irrefutable aspects of reality” [“Circumference”], i.e. the details of “existence” itself — its myriad moments, its aftermath — all in context with the “uncertain certainty” “Of Paradise’ existence”.

Here’s Ms Dickinson’s poetic “definition” of poets and poetry and the potential impact thereof. Note that she used a total of only 27 words and 40 syllables, proof that she was NOT a politician!

The Poets light but Lamps —
Themselves — go out —
The Wicks they stimulate —
If vital Light
Inhere as do the Suns —
Each Age a Lens
Disseminating their
Circumference –
(Emily Dickinson)



Posted in Poetry, Sonnets | Leave a comment

Gather ‘Round, It’s Miller Time! Yuk.

Congratulations Stephen Miller- on representing me this morning on
the various Sunday morning shows. Great job!
(@realDonaldTrump; 11 February, 2017)

Stephen Miller is a 31 year-old “Trump Senior Advisor,” also (reportedly) a college buddy of alt-right leader, neo-Nazi Trump supporter and white supremacist, Richard Spencer. On Sunday, Feb. 11, 2017, Miller appeared on numerous Sunday TV news shows where, when he spoke, he was clearly reading from cue cards or a teleprompter. He did have an interesting point to make, however, when he pointed out that “. . . our opponents, the media, and THE WHOLE WORLD will soon see as we begin to take further actions, that THE POWERS OF THE PRESIDENT to protect our country are very substantial and WILL NOT BE QUESTIONED.” Anything goes, in other words, so long as it “protects our country.” Right. Like just the other day, when ICE caught up with that criminal Mexican ‘illegal’ mom in Phoenix, then immediately deported her to Nogales, Sonora, down on AZ’s southern border. She was a criminal, of course. She had used a phony Social Security number so she could get a job and earn some money to help care for her two (USA-born) children. So she was deported cuz Trump said, and his powers to protect our country get rid of them damn Mexicans WILL NOT BE QUESTIONED.

Sounds like something a white Supremacist might say. Oh. Wait. Speaking of which . . . I almost forgot:

Stephen Miller fought “Islamofascism”: Trump aide founded controversial group in college

A recent review by CNN’s KFile found that Miller helped run Duke’s chapter of the “Terrorism Awareness Project,” an initiative started by the David Horowitz Freedom Center, a right-wing foundation that has ties to anti-Muslim hate groups, according to the Southern Poverty Law Center.


In high school, Miller focused his attention on his Hispanic classmates, publicly bemoaning the sound of Spanish-speakers in his school’s hallways. When Miller moved across the country for college, he adjusted his sights on the Muslim community.

What makes Trump adviser Stephen Miller so unlikeable?

 [K]eep in mind that Miller spent his teen years harassing Latinos, African Americans and Asians, wrote columns while he was a student at Duke that were so racist his colleagues in Jeff Sessions’ Senate office were stunned, and helped Steve Bannon write the unconstitutional Muslim ban. All of which makes him seem not just deeply unlikable, but ideologically dangerous and a threat to democracy.

Donald Trump’s white nationalist “genius bar”

Donald Trump’s administration is built around a brain trust of white nationalists. To deny that fact is to ignore a crucial element of this national crisis: America’s “greatest generation” defeated Nazism during World War II, and 70 or so years later one of the country’s two leading political parties has injected a more polite version of that poison into its veins and rode to power in Washington on a wave of bigotry and racism. . . .

Miller . . . is a fierce advocate of “ethno-nationalism,” meaning the racist belief that Europe and America must protect their culture and civilization (which are white by default) from outsiders who do not share their “Judeo-Christian values.” Miller echoed those talking points on Sunday talk shows, claiming that “millions” of “illegal aliens” voted against Donald Trump in the 2016 presidential election.

When I first saw Miller on the Telly spouting his propaganda as he read from his teleprompter, I kept staring at his face. SO familiar! But why? I’d never seen him before, but still . . .

So I did a little google-digging, came up with this pair of photos:


Adolf Eichmann. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Stephen Miller

Ah. Say no more. Now I get it. Resemblance — both in appearance and philosophy — is, to say the least, uncanny. Food for thought, sotospeak. And Trump gushes over Miller in “unpresidented” fashion. What’s up with that, I wonder? Lessee; what’s the word?


Javohl, Hair Furor.


“What luck for rulers, that men do not think.”
(Adolf Hitler)


Posted in "President" Trump, Fascism, Immigration, Race, Uncategorized | Leave a comment

“Night Became The Day Of Fire . . . And Children Burned To Ash”

From Emeralds and Ashes, a brief excerpt:

they stood ’round shivering
in worn and tattered coats
with only blackened sky to reflect their mood
and hopes
warming coals commandeered by those more reckless
for it was a time of sacrifice
you see
a time of war

in spite of chill
they knew inferno raged
on distant sun
even at night
impossible to see
impossible to sense
except through journey of the mind
which disallows consideration of darkness
or of cold
no darkness on the sun
no chill

even a child knows that

in tattered coats
the huddled ones leaned toward shelter
away from iced and chilling wind
to dream perhaps of summer’s warmth
to forget fateful thoughts and imaginings
of what might be their destiny
brought upon them by circumstance
of war
and as they dreamed
perhaps they prayed a better life for their children
who also suffered the cold
also suffered the fears

tomorrow would be better
they knew
because the fires which rage the sun
would rise again
to warm the earth and bring forth life
of yet another day
to nurture sons and daughters of creation
as inferno maintained itself
safe away

even the children knew that

but late that night the bombers came
to demonstrate to all creation
no thing is safe or sure
downward rained the firestorms
inferno and incendiary sucked away the breath
of eighty thousands
non-combatants all
just people in tattered coats
huddled in harm’s way
through heinous plan

night became the day of fire
flesh boiled or burned
in tattered coats

a man-made sun had come too close
as if to offer proof
that cold and dark
inhere within the human soul
though warmth and light do not
as dead and dying learned
too late

-and children burned to ash-

february 14, 1945

Seventy-two years ago this month — in the pre-dawn hours of Feb. 15, 1945 — a three day-long allied (British and American) bombing and incendiary air attack on the unarmed and non-militarized German city of Dresden came to an end. It was an attack in which incendiary bombs, dropped in the aftermath of tons of high explosives that had blown off roofs and destroyed much of the inner city, ignited the exposed remains of bombed out buildings and started a firestorm of epic proportions. The final death toll remains, to this day, uncertain. Estimates have ranged from as “few” as 15-20 thousand to as many as ten times that amount, or more. The precise number will never, of course, be known.

The reasons for the attacks were simple enough. Their combined purpose was (a) to destroy the Dresden railway yards and thereby prevent that particular transit hub from being available to allow movement of Wehrmacht troops from the collapsing Western front to the Eastern front, and (b) to debilitate existing internal German communication systems — all parcel to the task of crippling any and all German efforts to counter the westward-toward-Germany advance of Russian Armies. The allied saturation bombing of Dresden thus began on February 13th with a British raid, and was followed by a second British raid on the 14th plus a pair of American raids on the 14th and the 15th, resp.

In partial summary. . . February 14 from 12:17 until 12:30, 311 American B-17s dropped 771 tons of bombs on Dresden, with the railway yards as their aiming point. . . . The Americans continued the bombing on February 15, dropping 466 tons of bombs. During [the] four raids a total of around 3,900 tons of bombs were dropped.

“The firebombing consisted of by-then standard methods; dropping large amounts of high-explosive to blow off the roofs to expose the timbers within buildings, followed by incendiary devices (fire-sticks) to ignite them and then more high-explosives to hamper the efforts of the fire services. This eventually created a self-sustaining firestorm with temperatures peaking at over 1,500 °C. After the area caught fire, the air above the bombed area became extremely hot and rose rapidly. Cold air then rushed in at ground level from the outside and people were sucked into the fire. (. . .)

“Out of 28,410 houses in the inner city of Dresden, 24,866 were destroyed. An area of 15 square kilometers was totally destroyed, among that 14,000 homes, 72 schools, 22 hospitals, 18 churches, 5 theatres, 50 banks and insurance companies, 31 department stores, 31 large hotels, 62 administration buildings, and factories. In total there were 222,000 apartments in the city. The bombing affected more than 80 percent of them with 75,000 of them being totally destroyed, 11,000 severely damaged, 7,000 damaged, and 81,000 slightly damaged. . . . Although bombing destroyed the main railway station completely, the railway was working again within a few days.” [Highlight added]

So: tens of thousands of civilians, including an unknowable but presumably large number of innocent children, were killed in the bombardments. They were either blown to bits or burnt to death in those heinous attacks even as the center of the city of Dresden was completely destroyed — but NOT because Dresden was seen as a profoundly legitimate military target. No. Dresden was never considered to be any sort of Nazi stronghold or industrial center. It was simply a rail hub. And the attacks were conceived and carried out, as noted, in order to destroy that potential rail link along a route the allies presumed might possibly be used to transport German troops from the West to the East, troops to be used to counter the Russian advance. If such transit had been allowed to persist without interruption, might Germany have been able to restrain the Russian advance? If so, for how long? A week? Or two? We’ll never know, nor will the tens of thousands of Dresden’s murdered dead.

In any case, those few moments of railway destruction that were parcel to the Dresden mission might indeed still be viewed as a marginal success — IF, that is, the words “marginal success” can reasonably be used to describe the failure of any attempt at permanent tactical destruction of an officially designated target, including the Dresden rail yards on those fateful days of February, 1945.

One cannot help but wonder, however, if those tens upon tens of thousands of innocent victims who remain — still, and through this day — Dead — might not themselves, if only they could find the means, argue the tenor of the word “successful” in re any context of war, particularly when mentioned within the lexicon of those bombing raids which devastated Dresden, Germany; February 13-15, 1945.

The entire Dresden operation accomplished, in other words and in effect, only one thing: the mass murder of civilians, including children. Why? One can understand and perhaps even agree with the potential for tactical advantage implicit in that day’s strategic wartime reality. But still, the question persists: why the incendiaries? WHY THE INCENDIARIES?? And too, of course, there’s that second question, the one that still lingers even today: where’s the ‘civilized’ outrage at what happened on February 13-15, 1945? Was that event not, after all and in coldest reality, nothing other than the mass murdering of tens of thousands of innocent civilians? For NO REASON? How could such an event EVER be tolerated by those who call themselves ‘civilized’?

As of today, a full seventy-two years have passed and times have changed. Today, there has emerged a modicum of public outrage (or at least some serious questioning) regarding the ethic of using a new technology to accomplish the goals implicit in most any war. The difference today is based on the fact that back then, in 1945, the deliverers of explosive and incendiary mass death and destruction were ‘civilized’ in the sense that manned aircraft were used in defined and legitimate war zones. Today, impersonal unmanned drones are employed within (and beyond) borderless theaters of (presumed) international conflict, and they are used to kill only small handfuls of “enemy combatants” (or, on occasion, a presumed American insurrectionist or two), with minimal destruction beyond the periphery of the attack site . . . and THAT is today’s OUTRAGE?

Ah, the invariably intellectual graces of . . . Civilization . . . (?)

Civilization. Yes. Civilization is, as we all know, “An advanced state of human society, in which a high level of culture, science, industry, and government has been reached.” It’s also “those people or nations that have reached such a state.”

Right. I propose a rewrite, one that reads a bit differently, one that’s a bit more truthful, more realistic, as in:

“Civilization – The bizarre, invariably nonsensical and eternally conflicting consequence of human existence, as carried forth by those people or nations that have attained such a state where the death and destruction of others is their most popular and praiseworthy goal; see also: WAR.”

And perhaps somewhere in that redefinition process, eventually, someone of fairer mind might demand an answer to the two most eternally compelling questions ever posed within the human community:


Commence the holding of the breath as ‘civilization’ continues its ever “forward” march in its eternally incessant and wearisome fashion, and meanwhile hope that never again will anyone be forced to bear witness to that moment — that moment when, for no credible or condonable reason, night became the day of fire . . . and children burned to ash.


From Emeralds and Ashes, a closing thought:


One wonders if they ever heard the cry.
The sound, the summons, which to faithful says:
Your God has called, your time is come to die
And travel on – conclusion of your days
On earth, the end of all familiar things –
Your Lives, your Loves, interred now, sans the pain
Inflicted by ungodly bands of kings
Who find their purpose in despotic shame.
So now all living walk upon a cache –
Abysmal graveyards – globally extant,
Concealing flesh and bone returned to ash
From which it came. Tears want to flow, but can’t
As souls of murdered dead now roam – set free –
And living close their eyes: Afraid to see.


Special Note: Slaughterhouse Five, the epic anti-war novel by Kurt Vonnegut, is a ‘real time’ commentary based on Vonnegut’s own reflections of the fire-bombing of Dresden. He was there; he survived, and wrote of it in classic Vonnegut style.

Posted in Emeralds and Ashes I: Europe, Essays, War | Leave a comment