The bus station ship

The crimson cone rises out of the pavement
but no smoke comes from the stack.
No water to float on this vessel turned bus station
shines as a reminder in the sunset of days long gone.
The shipyards last remnant
is a bus station beside the trains.
Rosie the Riveter lived here
and now a woman assumes her identity
to panhandle for change.
She's yelling, "you can do it" at passersby
who try not to look her full in the face.
It might ruin the poster on their walls for inspiration.
The pavement might creep up on them to hold them inland
like this ship, taken over by the landscape, held in place.
A constant reminder of the greatest generation, the ship sits alone.
Unseen by the people struggling to use their idle hands.

My Spirit is Nourshed By

In circles around my body, the hula hoop travels
from hip to hip with music commanding its orbit.
The gravity of melody, harmony & rhythm
transformed into a dance inside a hoop, on stage
at the back of the crowd. Children stop and stare;
mouths gaping open,"How's she doing that Mommy?"

Grass between my toes and wind off the bay;
a nourishing breeze for this bright, autumn afternoon.
People jamming together for slow food. Sustainable nourishment
while we nurture our spirits with the conversation, the education.
To grow and learn, old and young orbit like this hoop,
create goals to break out of the same old circles
and find new tricks with a simple toy.

inaction, reaction

Billions overpopulate the surface of our tiny speck in the universe.
Still how we sit inert before our luxuries while thousands die is a mystery
It's not that the machines don't hum the gentle tune of information
but that mob mentality that it takes more than one
it takes more than one, two, three, and a,b,c
to save babes and mothers being shot dead with one bullet for being other
other than the person with the gun.

50 years ago that other was me, 25 years ago that other was her,
12 years ago that other was you, today who is it?
Each time we sat up straight and tied our hands in loop knots
pretending there is nothing we can do.
Blindfolds of self-government and power
prevent us from joining the international community
let them use our lines against us, that our justice system will take care of it.

Our justice system is the mockery of the world,
torturing suspects, holding them indeterminably without trials
driving them mad by sensory depravation
we can't save people from the hands of our government,
how do we expect to save others from theirs?
But we have to try, on all counts, try.
Write, speak, scream, for all those who've died,
Write, speak, scream, for all those who've been denied the right to do so.

H2O

Trapped, I flow between snow-capped peaks and ocean waves;

crashing my head against 10,000 foot-tall-ridges, and 5-foot sand bars as I undulate.

I try to sail over the mountains, catch a gust of wind east

back to the arms of that pinky finger lake, where I first burst from the ice.

I fled from its cliffs, little water-droplet afraid to fall that’s me.

I hopped a cloud across the mighty Mississippi,

Now I’m on the left coast, water’s everywhere,

rising fast with the fog I’m caught without solitude.

The only moment to myself I keep is as dew,

until the sun rips me from my blade of grass into another day.

Mist evaporates, another fruitless venture into the hills,

I turn to the waves wishing a current will whisk me away.

But she’s not on a faraway shore. Not anymore.

The friend who needs no words to know

my fear of fishbowls; my love of a quiet evening

condensing on a tulip tree leaf, and letting fireflies illuminate our surface.

She’s by the pinky finger lake, I left so long ago,

for the romantic beauty of a voyage, or to escape the fall.

Yet nature’s mousetrap won’t release any who’ve made the fabled western journey.

So here I sing trapped between the mountains and the sea.

Welcomes Home

She climbs out of the truck, her feet touching the gravel of the drive. The barking dogs and the rustling leaves in the wind are the only sounds. Her voice resonates as she calls the dogs or as she calls them the baby girls (who are getting to be much more like old ladies) to her side. Hailey, the terrier arrives stick in mouth tail wagging the entire back half of her torso with it. Her whimpers escape even though her mouth is full. The dog drops the stick. She tosses it back into the woods as Hailey takes a head start in the direction she's facing. Molly, the retriever walks back and forth between her legs wanting to be pet but too excited to stand still. They stay by her side as she wanders into the blue A frame that stands within the wilderness and puts her bags down. Her Dad advises her to go to sleep in her old bedroom after the red-eye flight. She chooses to crash on the couch by him and the dogs. The relaxation of being so far away from everything and back where she started overwhelms her as her eyes close to dream.

Three days later she steps off a subway, goes up the escalator, through the turnstiles, and there he is smiling, sleepy and open-armed. Her pace increases to kiss him, get into his arms, after cars, planes and trains she was finally back. He takes the heavy stuff, and they walk together the ten minutes back to their apartment. It is just barely morning, they talk slowly on the empty streets about her 3,000 mile trip and his adventures over the same weekend at their home. Her hand grasped in his, he opens the door and there is their cat waiting to welcomes her. A little annoyed by her absence the cat does not purr but demands attention. They curl up together in bed with the cat laying at their feet. His body pressed against hers he whispers, "I'm glad you're home," in her ear and she says, "Me too," as they fall asleep.

The Most Impressive Victory Ever!

There I was cornered. My two kings against her five. Two little mice trapped by five fearsome cats. We just paced back and forth as they set up in formation. We were barely surviving, hardly scraping past them as one by one they attempted to attack. Until finally I saw it, a glimmer of sunlight appeared on her eighth move. The kings debated who would be the sacrifice and who would be the new ruler of the checkerboard. Each noble in their wish to save their companion, but only one could survive. In the end King Banana Fana proved that his martyrdom was the only chance they had at defeating the evil empire of Brussel Sprouts. He made his move, forcing the King Sprout to jump him. Leaving King Mango Tango open to jump Kings Stem, Brussel and Sprout. Now it was two kings to one. King Mango Tango danced around avoiding the ropes determined not to allow King Banana Fana’s sacrifice to be in vain. King Yuck lost his patience and made a foolish attempt to trap, King Mango Tango saw his opening, he moved right between the two of them forcing one to die. Now it was one-on-one, and King Mango Tango edged King Picky Icky onto the ropes. If King Picky Icky kept retreating he knew he would win. Just one more move, he thought. Finally with a shout of triumph it was over! King Mango Tango jumped King Picky Icky and I won!

Americana

Another 4th of July approaches me like a drunk in the street. Stumbling and fumbling and blocking the sidewalk, he adavances. Hare brain ideas that he wants desperately to be true are dispensed in a voice that belongs to the seven cans of Coors Light. He vocates on the love of this country, the greatest nation among nations. He points to the American flag on his t-shirt and asks if any of us know of any nation greater. The nation where it is our responsibility to criticize our government! The country that is governed by the people. The country where the people allow the capitalist regime to conquer their will by placating them with the media.

With that sentence the elated patriotism of this inebriation slowly fades into something much more sinister, more revealing. Did you vote?! What's the name of your state assembly person, your mayor? We blame the government and we don't bother to vote for our representatives! Is that a protest? Is that patriotic to sit idly by? We pay more attention to the lives of celebrities than we do to what the President is doing. We send our troops to die so we can sit in front of our televisions and feel safe watching the baseball game. We treat athletes like heroes when the real heroes are out there everyday risking their lives so that we can vote in an election, have freedom of the press and religious freedom. Yet no other American takes responsibility or action. God we don't even take care of our soldiers who have returned from battle!

Tears well in his eyes in anger as his face is a deeper shade of scarlet. I read the papers. I see what we are doing, and that is nothing, we are being protected so that we can live the American way. The American way to get as much for as little as possible, to not take any responsibity for our actions, to just go with the flow. What happened to this country, this land that I love? At this he drags himself away to release some of the alcohol's venom into the bin. When those fireworks are over, he turns and stumbles down the street. I watch the clock strike midnight as another Independence Day comes to an end.