I mistook the film of duckweed
on the surface of the water
in the ancient reservoir
for old concrete, green paint peeling,
an abandoned swimming pool
worthy of a short explore.
down the stairs, I stepped into
the cold surprise. I still recall
the murky underwater green,
the thought, so this is drowning.
now I chalk it up as learning,
error by error growing wise,
as it’s true that I’ve had plenty,
with better vision now than ever
hindsight being twenty-twenty.
some things cannot be done:
make a world with no first cause
rewind actions once begun
love both money and God
get ahead by going first
govern by executive command
remain untouched by the Eden curse
score nineteen with a cribbage hand
Note: It is not possible to score 19 with a five-card cribbage hand. Sometimes a hand that scores 0 is humorously referred to as a “19-point hand” by cribbage players, a phrase that also serves well as a metaphor for the hubris of anyone attempting to do, or assert, the impossible.
finally having come of age
to vote, you are now unsure
if it really matters after
all. one sand grain on a
beach? one snowflake in
a winter squall? despite
such odds, remember this:
tipping points resist, resist,
until one ordinary drop
from a nondescript branch
triggers the thundering avalanche.
the seventeen-year
cicadas rise up, zombie
drum corps horror show
Note: Once every 17 years in places throughout North America, the 17-year cicadas emerge en masse from their long hibernation in the soil having quietly fed on the roots of deciduous trees, 1.5 million per acre, and take to the trees, percussing their abdomens, mating, laying eggs, and dying, falling to the soil to fertilize the trees whose juices have long been their sustenance. While scary in sight and sound, they actually do not damage the trees or plants as locust swarms would.
Note 2: the traditional haiku has seventeen syllables.
from the vantage of the frontage road,
the thought of merging all alone
onto a freeway of frenzied cars
seems a death trap to the sweet
sixteen Cinderella, fresh license
in her purse, finally headed
to the ball, first time driving solo.
not until she floors the pedal
of her Honda Civic pumpkin
up the on-ramp (amped on adrenaline)
will the impossible breakneck stream
of quicker cars slow-motion down
to fold her into the traffic zipper
as gently as a prince might attempt
to fit her foot with her own glass slipper.
sometimes
it is best to let
the grave shadows be.
let them rest there
on the evening stair.
beware
of wanting more
light and life before
you are ready to bear
whatever they may bring.
three years into Hezekiah’s
encore of fifteen,
he sired a future renegade king,
Mannasseh.
averting the first made
way for a second, and worse,
disaster.
Note: See the whole story told as told in 2 Kings 20. God’s gracious gift of extending King Hezekiah’s life for fifteen years (signalled by the shadow moving backward) yielded some dark consequences. Would it have been better if he had been content to die when his time was up?
on this day, each year coming around,
I am again reminded to say
what should be said every day–
while I instead so often stay
aloof in the dim-lit halls of self,
sweeping the corners, dusting portraits.
this is a day of great importance,
stuck in the middle of cold February,
named in honor of the martyr who gave
up every, every, everything.
and isn’t this what you did for me
on this very day when we were young,
the rain at a slant and the beach in a roar,
when I asked you to be mine for life,
and you, like Saint Valentine before,
embraced the martyrdom of becoming my wife?
Note: February 14 was officially established as St. Valentine’s Day by Pope Gelasius I in 496 in honor of the 3rd century martyr. I asked Susan to marry me on February 14, 1986 on a stormy late morning on the boardwalk in Ventura, CA.
a triskaidekaphobic
commenting on Apollo 13
would say, “See?” though
Lovell might well disagree,
the way they made it safely home,
as might too the poker player
whose luck lays down a royal flush,
what chance these five from thirteen clubs?
I myself follow suit, positive as
the legendary Betsy Ross flag,
walking away from the donut shop
with a baker’s dozen in my bag.
Notes: 1) Triskaidekaphobia: extreme superstition concerning the number 13; 2) Apollo 13’s Jim Lovell commanded the successful return of their damaged space vessel after aborting the moon landing; 3) A royal flush is the Ace, King, Queen, Jack, and Ten of any suit; 4) The Betsy Ross flag had thirteen stripes and thirteen stars representing the original thirteen colonies; and 5) A baker’s dozen refers to an extra item thrown in with the purchased twelve, and has come to refer to any group of thirteen.
After Judas blasted a hole
through the sacred bond
of the band of brothers,
that gaping simmering wound
remained even after Jesus’
hands and feet had healed over
in the heat of resurrection.
A name (largely unknown to us)
was suggested, along with another,
lots were thrown, and this Matthias,
mystery man from the backroom shelf,
sacrament of divine triage,
healed the eleven back to twelve.
Note 1: So they proposed two, Joseph called Barsabbas, who was also known as Justus, and Matthias. Then they prayed and said, “Lord, you know everyone’s heart. Show us which one of these two you have chosen to take the place in this ministry and apostleship from which Judas turned aside to go to his own place.” And they cast lots for them, and the lot fell on Matthias, and he was added to the eleven apostles.
–Acts 1:23-26
Note 2: The picture is of a small wooden sculpture made in the lower Rhine, Germany, 16th century, titled “The Kiss of Judas”
The north tower swallowed
American Airlines Flight 11
with a surprised exhale of fire
and collapsed to the ground
in a cloud of exhaustion,
all 110 stories giving up
in unanimous succession
after the fell death blow.
I know we have not
gotten back up again:
the illusion of immunity
shattered, the skies no longer
friendly, the legacy of 9/11
turning the neighbor in the seat
next to me into an impossible question.
Note: it is curious how the number 11 is woven through terrorist tragedy on 9/11. Both destroyed towers had 110 stories. It was Flight 11 that crashed into the North Tower. Osama bin Laden was killed in a U.S. military operation of revenge on May 1, 2011. The 9/11 Memorial opened on September 11, 2011.
frame the other
name the enemy
as an object
as a category
an abstraction
generalization
this is how
to keep her, lock him
up, sweep them
under a rug,
or throw it away
I was taught
to count to ten
and back to one
with my innocent
child’s voice
singing, squeezing,
diminishing, killing
ten little Indian boys.
Note: any one else remember singing that song?
I say there’s an omen in the number nine,
waiting like a crouching lion.
think of the terrible fate of the kings
who accepted Sauron’s nine powerful rings.
and what horrors await, only Dante can tell,
for those who end up in his nine circles of hell.
and what of Pluto, that planetary stub,
who, for being a dwarf, was kicked out of the club
of nine.
fine, what you say. it sounds wise.
but be leary. Ask any cat with her bank
of nine lives what she happens to think
of your cynical theory.
Note: The idea of cats having multiple lives likely emerged from ancient Egyptian reverence for cats and their perceived connection to the divine, with the number nine possibly stemming from the sun god Atum-Ra, who was believed to take the form of a cat when visiting the underworld and who gave birth to eight other gods, thus representing nine lives in one.
take my key, love.
match my note
an octave higher
and let us sing
the floor and ceiling,
you at twice my frequency,
I, your anchor inspiration.
in between a melody
of other notes
may play each day
a new creation,
but you and I alone remain
fundamental and overtone,
the place our song, no matter
where it loves to wander,
after dark keeps coming home.
Note: The octave is eight major scale notes above the fundamental pitch, vibrating at double the frequency and is called the first overtone and/or the second harmonic. Here I imagine these two notes as parents.
headstrong even before
you unfurled from the womb,
you so quickly picked Sunday
to come into the world,
you left no room for mom
to get her epidural. you came
the way millions of babies
have come and this to begin
your singular journey to heights
I now see you climbing.
but way back then, your tiny hand
around my finger so tightly curled,
if the great committee had given
me vote, I would have chosen you
one of the seven wonders of the world.
Note: For my daughter Randi Lynn, who this year turned 28 (which is, if you are counting, 4 wonderful cycles of 7!)
we are all each of us
born into a riddle
that we race to solve
before we rest six feet under.
haunted by fears, teased by wonder,
we rotate the Rubik’s Cube in our hand
trying to untangle blue from green,
orange from red, yellow from white,
afraid we’ll never get it right,
twisting and turning the best we can
as tirelessly as Inigo Montoya
chasing after the six-fingered man.
Note: Inigo Montoya is a character in the movie The Princess Bride.
what could an immense burning
furnace in the cold urn of space with
a sphere the size of a hundred worlds
possibly have in common
with its namesake sticker–
that little glittering golden star
given out for a job well done
in arithmetic or writing a story?
what but each a spark jump starting a sun
to rise upon a field of morning glories.
Note: the kindergarten gold star sticker has, of course, five points. And the spectacular morning glory flower has five petals.
when the four angels
at the four corners of the world
held back the four winds
so not the smallest tendril
of breeze could slip through
to rustle a single leaf,
I was bereft, left without
tenderest cool upon my face,
and more—that sound of wind-roar
pouring through a valley alive
and shaking apart, waking dreams,
thrilling to the very core
my four-chambered heart.
Note:
“After this I saw four angels standing at the four corners of the earth, holding back the four winds of the earth so that no wind could blow on earth or sea or against any tree.”
—Revelation 7:1
whiff three times at the plate
and that’s it. too late. you’re out.
not out like Jesus three days
in the grave now risen.
more like Dale Curtis Gaines,
harmless as an alley turkey,
out of commission after
three swings at petty theft,
sentenced by law to life in prison.
Note: Dale Curtis Gaines is a mentally disabled three-strike lifer. According to a 2011 analysis of state data by Stanford Law School’s Three Strikes Project, nearly 40% of three-strike lifers in CA qualify as mentally ill. Source: NYTimes article.
add up the sides to any story
you’ll ever hear: it will be two,
always two, no matter
how complex the plot, how few
the cast of characters,
and whether or not
they roll the dice or toss a coin—
tails, heads, heads, tails—
every twist and turn of the train
forever on two rails.
Note: A great quote by Jonathan Edwards:
“There are always two sides to every story, and it is generally wise, and safe, and charitable, to take the best; and yet there is probably no one way in which persons are so liable to be wrong, as in presuming the worst is true, and in forming and expressing their judgement of others, and of their actions, without waiting till all the truth is known.”
—Jonathan Edwards, Charity and Its Fruits: Christian Love as Manifested in the Heart and Life
one is for the grand prize winner
one is for each one who lost
the proto step of the beginner
oldest survivor of the Holocaust
Note: Mirjam Bolle is now believed to be the oldest Holocaust survivor. The Dutch-born Israeli will turn 108 on March 20, 2025.