THE MYSTICAL HAND OF ART

 

Talents are somewhat appreciated, understood, applauded.

Somewhat?

Observers look at the external varnish  seeing superficial beauty

Unappreciative of complex artistry and cerebral gymnastics

Patrons groan oohs and ahhs as color schemes,

Lurid sunsets, mystical rainbows steal their superficial appreciation

of the muse talents in Apollo’s arena.

 

Fascinated by paranormal dimensions, engaged with 5^th world cohorts

Ensconced in brightly lit third floor writers dens and palettes  askew

Driven to capture the fleeting clouds of inspiration

Delighted by thoughts talking in middle night séances

Sweating to encircle darting thoughts, sunset images

Six-eight –ten hours of never tiring genius

Van Gogh, Mayer, Shakespeare are always present

Always, Always

To capture the candle scent of the masters of yore is

A blessing in ones vein.

 

Watching the ghost of creativity walk away into the

Foggy canyons of smudged palletes is a muse denied.

 

 

HAPPENSTANCE AND CIRCMSTANCE

The vagaries of life are many

Collision of fate, fame, finesse, fury

Are second to no other emotional coupling

Couched in anonymity muses gather

Celestial powers converge

Human chemical reactions explode

Rarity – once in a lifetime

Powers unleashed – rivers of passion overflow logic

Desire, attraction henceforth unknown

Uncontrollable

Rarity –once in a lifetime

So beautiful, challenging, caring, honest

A multitude of mystical colors surround her visage

Life changing – an understatement

Dusk arrives, darkness envelopes

The Goddess of life retreats

Her footprints in the sand leave a trail

Of  love’s never to be forgotten mystical gifts.

 

GOD’S PRESENCE

A glaze of snow on the mountain trail

Feeble red oaks bracing the winter winds

Too cold to trek

First day of winter?

Last sunrise of fall?

 

Snuggle,huddle,bridle inside

Hiding for 6 months

Nature smiles, humans are hiding

Animals and rodents run free

God’s country is God’s country again

 

Surrender the Poconos

Leave snow shoes hung in the garage

Surrender to the elements

Smells of hemlock hang with heavy snow

Surrender snow drifts, slashing neck burning winds

Surrender snowmobile trails

Grey tinged skies collage with the winter sun

 

To trek or not to trek. That is the question.

Cabin fever- higher level each week

House becomes prison like

Reflecting snow, one of God’s paintings

Staying inside- turning our backs on God’s goodness

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Mother’s Prayer

Mom always said ” a person’s eyes are the windows to their soul”.

A shard of motherly wisdom emanates from her desktop picture.

The closed smile of an intense, oh so knowledgeable keeper of the faith

Behind her spectacles, the soul’s aperture heard all things, saw all things,

celebrated -cherished-protected  her sons.

Celebrated-cherished-protected the men in her life.

Sentry like – she observes me every day in every way.

 

The inevitability of life’s end becomes more clear,

her parting phrase  ” I pray for you every day” speaks louder and more emphatic

as the wintertime sunset is longer, darker, all encompassing.

She said, ” I am tired, the Lord can take me home”.

What a wonderful surrender. Peace.

May I listen and surrender.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Coming Home

Fried Scrapple

Warm, soft chewy pretzels

Mennonite women with caps and long skirts

Catholic priests who laugh, pound the pulpit

Hug their flock

Much has changed in Pennsylvania Dutch Country

HOWEVER

Store keepers, teachers, role models

Here in the hinterlands

God’s country remains intact.

Born in the USA

 

 

 

 

GOODBYE DEAR FRIEND

The Lord is everywhere:

Steel gray clouds

Snow, Ice pellets in a crescendo

Crunching snow foretells our every step

The Lord has set the stage.

Oh yes, he knows our every move, every thought, every emotion.

HE knows we are coming.

The morose, gray atmosphere envelopes

the cemetery.

Silence, alone.

 

Fear heaving in our chest cavity.

Harold and Jean’s gravesite awaits

 

Somehow Harold knows we are coming.

Fifteen years gone by.. he knows we are coming.

He waited. As always patient and understanding.

He knew I had, yes had, to come and say goodbye.

Facing the pain of the moment.

 

The knees weaken

Tears flow

I grab for the tombstone

O Harold I cry, O Harold.

The father I never had,.that was Harold

A man of God

Harold knows.

We are together for a brief moment

God enables us to hold each other

God’s grace. Hold me Harold. I remember your hugs, your smiles

your words of wisdom, and your good works for the poor.

One last time.

The most difficult goodbye.

 

I turn to Al.. knowing I could not have

met with Harold without fear of collapsing

and having Al for support.

The Lord gives Al the grace to be a comforter

And so we silently walk

Chocking

Hoping to meet Harold in the afterlife.

May he rest in the arms of the Lord.

SOCIALISM VS CAPITALISM

News announcers up and down the East Coast

Change the channel : clones of each other

Bemoaning the blizzard of 2016

Similar stories, tragedies abound, horrific storm

 

Three days and counting

The nation’s government in DC is paralyzed

Offices closed, streets blocked

Nothing moves, only sledding on capital hill

Profit motive to clear the streets- absent

SOCIALISM – Yes: Government employees on leave with pay

State of emergency continues, continues, continues

The world functions while DC sleeps

 

A comparative analysis

New York City: 6,000 miles of streets

More people, more cars, same snow

State of emergency: one day: roads cleared

Offices, restaurants, Broadway, all open

Profit motive – YES: Capitalism YES

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

WINTERTIME MISSION

Lost

Confused

A simple guy seeking simple answers to simple questions.

 

Out the door at 9 AM

A 20 minute car ride: snowy, black ice

DPW has been salting: roads are safe.

 

Through the glare of sun’s reflections

Bouncing off snow piles.

Carefully we find our way.

Driving like winter visitors in Florida

A beautiful sky this Tuesday in Wisconsin.

 

On a mission.

Boots have a hole in their soles.

Visiting the one shoe repair shop in the area.

Owners are joyful, loud, expert Italians.

And we argue about immigration?

A regular customer, I know coffee is brewing.

 

Did I say Tuesday?

Walgreens – open:

Sentry Foods – open.

Citgo Station –open

Bakery – open

 

Carefully glide into the ice covered parking lot.

Gloves, parka, rarin’ to go – out of the car.

Carefully maneuver to the shoe repair shop.

A sign –

NO – not a sign:

CLOSED ON TUESDAY.

Why? Closed on Tuesdays.

Restaurants closed on Mondays

Antique Shops closed on Thursdays.

Where is the logic?

Locals demur “that’s the way it is”.

Why?

User friendly?

Is there a reason for the season?

 

 

World War II Legacy Continues

Reflective multicolored pearls bounce skyward

Shimmering snow banks rejoice

Winter’s beauty arrives

 

A new beginning; January 2, 2016

Quietude in our small town

Five days since a drug bust

It could be worse.

 

Priests and preachers ruminate hopeful themes

This year will be better than last

Phone rings – our daughter calls: let the good times roll.

Politicians and pundits recover from hangovers.

College bands, cheerleaders: cheer for the home team.

 

Hope there is hope/

I scan Word press: clever writers probe the paranormal

Smiling, all is well.

 

Wearing my German heritage is a badge of honor

On time, precise, exact, we block out WWII.

Never again- a phrase oft repeated in our childhood.

Yes, shame runs through generations.

Ah, but this is 2016…

 

And then !! A bold headline jumps off the internet.

Turkey’s president “ Hitler had some good ideas”.

He brought organizational skills to government.

 

Yes, he designed the holocaust.

 

US government outrage – none

US media outrage – none

Presidential reaction – none

 

Neville Chamberlin lives.

Precursors of evil and death are here

We profess “ Never Again”

Bull Shit – the ghosts of 1939 are alive and well.

THE YOUNGER

Sereg, the youngest brother, observes the formless

filled daily noise of elder chatter

Trying to understand the tribal implications.

A discordant rhythm reflects a lifetime of lyrics.

Greek, Italian, African all merging, melding, cacophonous

The daily patter around the backgammon table

repeats itself..again. Unwritten melody of life.

Mirror image of incoming nighttime surf

The predictable vocal pattern reinforces

the clan as an informal brotherhood.

Again.

Shining brass clothing hooks: reserved, revered. Badger jackets

have a special place.

Unwritten seating charts. everyone respects who sits where.

Chores are understood: coffee maker: pastry chef: accountant:

discussion not required.

Messenger of news when illness strikes – shared,

Mourners at funeral parlor visitations: a solemn obligation.

Trust, trust, trust- the binding chemical constructed over years.

Again.

A family. a tribe, a clan, a brotherhood.

Common among all cultures, universal.

Social constructs which create communities of all sizes

Faith never tested. Enduring, God sent.

TOGETHERNESS FOR EVER