Tag Archive | Prose Poem

Through a Glass

darkly, childhood ends eventually and Hoody Doody, Lamb Chop, and Charlie McCarthy, the marionettes, puppets, and manikins who you saw as having voices of their own, you saw their lips moving, turn out to be wood and cloth.

Then you start looking at the people whose lips do not move, but you can see the little trembles in their throat. By then you have learned to research and can dig up the script.

You can look back and smile at how gullible you were and come the winter solstice season you can view from your burrow and hope for St. Nick. But you know that come spring, it will be time for the next campaign.

When you put away childish things, you can remember what you have been taught, and look at that glass a little less fogged. We do not prosecute our political enemies. It is bad form. You must ask yourself new questions at childhood’s end. What happens when they are criminals? Then it is time to review the fine print of the social contract.

A Christmas Carol

This is the season of listening. The chains forged in life, I am listening to them.  The fictional character, Donald J. Trump, has seized the imagination, the cult of personality.  In the war between Heaven and Hell, I am waiting to hear the clank of his chains, hopefully before he dies, and hopefully before I do.

It could be that giant goose eaten around the dark, cold times of Winter Solstice.  Hark the herald angels clanking, Donald J. Trump is going to Hell.

 

Kite Fight

There was a kite fight a couple years ago, both had skilled handlers. They wore gloves against string burns. One was a gaudy orange affair with a long paper tail, the other was a steady blue. The field was pretty even, each had been in fights before. There was a good wind. They knew a trick or two, so it did not take long for the orange Mylar one to cut blue’s string. It fetched up in a high tree where you can still see it today. The occasional couple looks at in the early spring wondering if there was glass on orange’s string.

Nobody could prove it, and orange’s handler is not talking. Besides, the glass would have been pretty high up on the string and when orange cut blue’s line, theirs was cut too. It fell on a power transformer, sparking a fire. The whole town was dark for a week.

There is still talk of upgrading the power grid, but it is the same old poles these days.

 

Domestic Tranquility

All Donald J. Trump has to do to make all his problems go away, the Grand Jury investigation go away, he would get my full support and a written apology for my ignorance and lack of understanding is to release his tax returns, with schedules from 1980 forward. 1980 to 2017 and it all goes away.  However he will not do this because he probably has something to hide.  He is probably a criminal.  He is probably compromised by foreign nationals.

The people who supported him and worked for him will not have aided and abetted in a criminal conspiracy to defraud the U.S.  His tax returns will demonstrate that his policies do not reflect his financial interests.  His tax returns will show that during his presidency he has not violated the emoluments clause of the Constitution.  All the people who are in Trump’s administration have to have told him that all he has to do is release those returns and all of the “fake news” will stop.  All he has to do to prove “no collusion” is release his tax returns.  All this goes away and everybody will be tranquil again, we will all be working for the common good.

All of this goes away.  So, why will he not do that?

All of this goes away.

Old Light

 

The world rotates away from the local star into the older light. The reflected light on the clouds over the east took on the colors of Russell or Remington paintings without the people, a landscape but with a pallet knife touches smearing a Georgia peach in all its glory of yellows and salmons turning the pines of the mountain almost aspergillus green.

Children of the craft learned from riding the sphere into and away from the stars to tell time before the incandescence of bulbs and excited gasses. They knew that the youngest light a human saw as he peered up through the branches and the leaves was lightning arches that left after images as the dark closed in behind. Maybe later, after they were lead out into the grasslands by Lucifer, God, or even the aliens (she, he, it, or they), humans learned to corral fire left over from the spear of lightning, thinking it the blood of the earth due to its ruddy hew. It is warm like blood. Or it could have been some genetic pressure that guided the hands to the friction of stick, or the spark of stone.

New light is easy now. A flicked switch heats filament or charges phosphorous from mercury gas. Less than a second to create, about the same amount of time for moonlight to reach the Earth at 360,000ish miles per second reflected from the moon.

Children of the ecliptic know that the new light of the local wanderers is not very old, not that they do not listen to the new stories, but the old light, the old stories are out beyond their star’s solar winds. This is one of the things that set the children of the craft apart.

New Defenses

In the United States of America having a political opinion is not a crime, but I have also heard that ignorance of the law is no excuse. What happens when your vote is cast for an active participant in a criminal conspiracy to defraud the United States of America?

Are you a victim or are you a co-conspirator?

The tragic thing about this question is that over the next two years, we may be forced to answer that question.

New attacks on the experiment of democracy require new defenses.

I Imagine . . .

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. . . the four horsemen of War, Pestilence, Famine, and Death, no matter the color of their mounts, are akin to the points of the pentagram, governed by the Great Spirit so there is no fifth horse of Chaos.

The young do not fully see the elegance of the horsemen yet, perhaps . . .

. . . maybe there is some corollary in the color of their mounts. Too busy putting in those driving skills to muscle memory to instinctively notice the headlights in the rear view mirror growing closer.

Night driving is like that.

As the headlamps draw nearer, growing brighter in the mirror, sometimes they line up into multiple lamps, four maybe. Reaching your hand up to flick the dimmer down to keep from going blind you just concentrate on driving, and hope they pass so the darkness of long night drives becomes peaceful again, empty, and you can flip that dimmer again to see the miles behind.