Friday, January 8, 2021

A look back as we move forward

 
BOSCHED & BREUGLED

There’s a froggy bog

At Bougival.

Sirens wheezing.

Canadian geese geesing

To an off-tune violin cringe:

A melody without a hinge.

 

Assumed the stress

Was left behind

Snoozing on the fence.

Thought we were past tense.

 

But no.

This is the now.

Holy cow.

Stencils and pencils,

Oily utensils.


“Oh by gosh,”

Pierre muttered

with panache

and then spent the last 

Of his per diem

At the art museum.

 

Gaining access

He could address

Where he’d digressed.

 

Later he confessed

That he’d been depressed

If not somewhat possessed.

 

But he took his time,

Sipped his wine,

Enthralled at the shrine:

 

Bosched and Bruegled;

Renoired and café tabled;

Scarlett lettered and Clark Gabled.

 

Rodin and fisacoed

Picassoed and lassoed;

Degas viewed, and thus El Passoed. 



 


     HOAX MUSIC

Seems like yesterday,

Word came about

A virus in China.

 

Cruise ship docks

In Seattle.

Endless prattle.

Shimmy and slide

As people soon died.

 

White House

Assumes we’re 

Just a bunch of mokes:

Mindless, clueless

Eager for Saturday tokes.

 

That we’ll ignore

The world is on fire.

“Just give them their smokes.”

 

Maskhole MAGA Hatters,

Dumb and Dumber.

Pandemic soon ensues.
So many without a clue.

 

White House insists

That it’s a hoax;

If we test less,

Less folks choke.
Is that some kind

Of fucking joke?

 

Up to you

How you choose it.
Backbeat, something

To help you lose it.
Might even be therapeutic.
Turn it up loud and proud

And play your hoax music.


 

 

 MORE OTIS REDDING


Sundays a long time ago
Were different.
Even for those who didn't go
to a gathering where they listened
To ideals, sang some chants;
Then scurried to buffets
Like eager ants.

Some might say
This is good book abuse;
That the Lord would not
Appreciate this point of view.
I disagree.
Who knows what the
Actual Lord might do?

Here's the thing about prayer.
It's one way to simply
Slow down and breathe.
One man's mantra
Might be another's 
Memorized verse.
No one's demanding or
Trying to coerce
That the notion of different
Wears its badge of diverse.

Yet, maybe you'll agree:
Lots of ways to get that
Cat out of the bag
Or loose from the tree.

Sunday early morning
on the porch in an easy chair:
Watching walkers slide past.
Some alone, some in pairs.
Birds chirping in a warm breeze;
Putting the laissez in laissez-faire.

Some insist there's a stairway
to the great beyond, even heaven.
Might be true, might just be
Some calm water you're treading.
Now, with so much rancor, we need
More Otis Redding, less Armageddon.

But where we can find Jesus
If not in a congregation?
If we don't meet on Sundays
We're inciting damnation.
How can we be forgiven?
Where is our salvation?

Take a look around.
Every day is an opportunity
To lovingly share this world:
It's just one big community.

You can pray to an icon
Or even a doctrine.
You can buy and sell
The soul at an auction.

You can also breathe
and meditate.
Find yourself.
Lose the hate.

That's really
All it takes.
Breathe, and
Lose the hate.




COMING ATTRACTIONS


Better days are coming. 
But I am not sure how or when.
Just a feeling.

Maybe it’s a dream:
Faith and hope 
Meet as strangers on a train
With a couple of tickets to ride.

Were they just day trippers?

Or did they get all the way home?

Keeping all my cards close to the vest.
2020 was an Attitude Rorschach Test.



VISION


Feeling the need

To know what’s waiting

at the end of this tunnel?


One might Google 

Zoom classes 

In mysticism:

The first site that appears

Is based in Florida.
And that brought a laugh.

Perhaps that mystic

Is related to those

Fortune tellers who reside

In trailers on the herpes side of town.


Got to wonder

If they can actually

Sense what is ahead,

And proof would be,

At the very least,

Decent housing.


Madame LaRue

Can con a client

Just so often,

Or she’d move.

Had an annual eye exam.

And it’s interesting

How many lenses

Can be twisted and turned

Allowing one alternately

Better and worse views.

Sort of like reality.
Or at least how
One perceives what 

Might be true:
It’s all how it applies

Strictly to you.

One can argue art.
What it means.

How valuable it might be.

But one has to be clear

When it comes to science.

Science lacks political savvy.
It has no guile.
It just presents itself,

And one either gets it or not.


Gravity, for instance.
Even a MAGA hatter

Might be aware

That what goes up

Is gonna come down.


Some say hindsight is perfect vision.
That by looking back

At what actually happened

That that is clarity.


Maybe that’s valid.

This year we’ve witnessed

A bunch of rear ends

Making true asses of themselves.

Maybe that’s what the cliché suggests:

Hindsight is 2020.

So many hinds. So much sight.
Perhaps that’s what it means.


So, what have we learned?


That’s to be determined

While sensible people mull:

What fresh hell will 2021 bring?






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