My Father Who Art In Heaven

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did you get a plenary indulgence
for every house you built
for your growing family
who’s final number was nine?

)one for the house you built and lost
during the first Great Depression
)one for the chicken coop
you made into a home
)one for the chicken coop / garage
as number of babies grew
)one for the two story
when we reached the final number nine

ok she knocked two off
for bad behavior
he knocked off one
for good measure
now there is one
plenary indulgence
if Heaven is True

and yeah, i remember the rules
one plenary indulgence
is insurance into heaven
and yeah, i remember Catholic teachings
of … sure … you can buy a
plenary indulgence
with a little hard cash please

“the yellow green of springtime
promises potential
where the dead horse lay”

no i would not judge what’s your song
mother and father’s intention
is only a heart beat away

.

let’s kid ourselves

at least the butting bison
are less visible
having taken on
more culturally acceptable ways
to woo women their way

way back in the days
at least
every man’s every woman’s
sexuality was understood
and honored
i heard the elder say
“full moon and empty arms”
a fond memory of long ago

oh the flail of the flying fish
trailing a satellite close ahead
i know the man made
i want to know you
perhaps i never will

tonight, for now
i’m walking in Wonderland dreams
dreams of coming home

My Jake Poem

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i wondered today thru the poems, Jake,
the ones i published, hard copy,
mine — and others

not gonna speak here
about your poems
or the one that found me you

my meandering didn’t start at the beginning
of publishing, i’ve wondered there quite often,
perhaps i will again, but not now

quite near the beginning, mid ’90’s
where my little ezine was born
i found interest of note,
mine
and others,
seventeen years post publishing,
clear as bell ringing
those that touched my heart again,
those remembered with hurt
i passed on by
passed by also
those
with neither

about one hour sufficed
to pause, to ponder,
to remember
my jake and all his facets
most important to me now

this day when i measured my life
as seventeen years a nurse
as twenty-four into poetics

bringing me around to Jake
my longest lasting understander
who never needed to ask me
for whom i write

tonight, my Jake,
i write for thee

.

Good Grief Reza Sayah! CNN anchor

.

Charlie wants me to ask you
what is an Iranian doing
on national news (CNN at least)
espousing
US and Israel
needs to be “very worried”
about your country, Iran.

This Country Girl wants to know
) why and when you left Iran,
how and whaa-t?

for give me
i just can’t stop imagining
a world, this world
where all nuclear weapons
degenerate in the place
where all them that has ’em
and they
will be left to clean up
their messy pollution
.

if i could kill yesterday

.

no, not kill…un-birth it,
yesterday, so
i wouldn’t have to knowingly know

there’s a kind of hurt
all over the world
all over the world
tonight

and it’s a powerful machine
of human flesh
from
“Ain’t gonna take it anymore!”
to
“Can you hear us now?”

one half hour till morning
the odor is not fading
nor the resolve

if i could kill yesterday i would not
somewhere somebodies learned
something
if not only
human evolution in time
for Compassion

if we ever needed you
we need you now

.

when a grandchild dies

.

the pain is too great to endure
there is no believing
in a Compassionate God
we look to the stars
see every parent’s grief
one by one a never ending

form your family circle
shed the tears for one another
knowing/remembering
we carry on
for one another
who are still here

there is a reason
there is a season
hearts touched
will touch again
in the peaceful valley
someday
.

Open letter to Jonathan Pollack

I tried, three times, to send you a closed letter via Brookings Institution
unfortunately it seems
they do not want input from non members
ergo:

Dear Jonathan Pollack,

Please acknowledge what N. Korean wants from America – A Peace Treaty. To them, a Truce implies we may attack them again. Do the right thing.

Thank you,
Great Grandmother Summer

signing off

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ain’t packing my bags
i’m ready to go
more naked than
the quarter moon
no cover will up
the status quo

over the hill and far away
no loon will call me crazy
only people do
but i am not their matter

what matters is
i love
you love
he loves
she loves
we love
they love

and we are of this matter
tattered shredded scared
by far
the most
emotional creature
the strongest willed
the most
fragile hearts

somewhere between
Florence Nightingale and Captain Spock
emotion weds logic

when day dreams die
be consoled in
moon dreams