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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