EARLY SPRING HOURS
In these restlessly expansive, early Spring hours
my Margie lays before our fireplace
that floods the living room with flickering light,
nestling in the soft oversized couch
ensconced in her enormous comforter.
Next to her a Degas sculpture stares contemplative
past her rustling silk nightgown
into the space between Spring dreams;
behind them, a hand painted porcelain blue Delft vase
thrusts upright, beneath a brilliant Van Gogh picture.
Margie is pleasantly intoxicated by the subtle elixir of sleep.
I quietly enter from our bedroom,
pause to gaze at her, a radiant vision
floating in darkness; and, silently glide across the room,
and gently kiss her lips, which are warm and moist.
Her face is flushed and rosy as the dawn,
she opens her frank beautiful eyes
and smiles warmly at me; while, outside,
shivering trees blossom pink and white:
and a cold rain falls over Portland.
SCRUBBED TO BLANDNESS
THIS SKY
This sky, scrubbed to blandness,
pelts with rain the trees that shudder and sigh.
Fleet footed clouds, scudding across the valley,
suddenly falling, fantastic forms.
Contrarily, Mt Hood stands firmly rooted,
ridges writhing away in every direction,
indomitable with its head in the clouds.
A colossus who shrinks buildings and freeways
into diminutive insignificance.
Lying prostrate at its feet,
perforated with wind, the day sheered of horizons,
drags darkened corridors:
blindly groping, it plods away.
And I evicted from such developments!
So many shadows, so much emptiness!
SUBURBAN SEAS
They are slamming car doors in neighborhood driveways
and on the worn borders of the street
I see the dormant souls of commuters
drearily budding by back doors.
Grey waves of morning mist mutter
and deposit before me people
whose ideas are pre-made like their clothes
from the depths of the Suburban Seas.
I duck a grazing glance
that ricochets off through the traffic,
and then I press between pages a disembodied smile
that drifts among the car's exhaust
and disappears in the tops of the trees.
DAY WAS DEAD
Day was dead. And,
stretched tauter than a violin string,
the dull evening hovers between buildings;
then, vanishes around a corner
only to reappear again
wrapped in another aimless moment.
Everything is monotonously the same
on this cold and dreary, rain swept night:
when, faces rise from the bottom of the street,
two legged turtles beneath their umbrellas
spouting sententious words
flat as the lapels of their coats.
Inside, the concert hall
we make our way to our seats,
soon the lights dim and we are embraced
by the warm refrains of Mozart.
Afterwards, journeying through darkness,
we head home on the freeway;
the stream of cars turns into black glistening serpents,
which suddenly disintegrate into a pack of hounds
with ruby and diamond eyes that bound away into the night.
The street lights pass us heading the other way.
Finally, we're pulling into the drive.
What had started out so unendurably ordinary
had been magically transformed into something wonderful.
And so rejuvenated, I am ready
to face tomorrow morning
bright eyed and alive.
ON THIS ENTIRE PLANET
No where, on this entire planet,
is there a place without traps
that break bones and mangles flesh,
and prevent small animals
from going where they want
and doing as they please.
After seeing the mutilated remains
of one of their friends,
who once had been
filled with high spirits
and youthful exuberance,
laying entrapped and destroyed,
they become prematurely old and afraid
and warily watch their step:
and that is the way they live out their days.
FIELD TRIP
Stacked on either side
of the big building's long room
were walls covered with cages,
and in each cage was a chicken.
Beneath each row of cages
were the conveyor belts
designed to carry away
all the blank, uniform eggs
that the hens laid.
Some of the hens
strained their necks
through their cages
and viciously pecked
at their neighbors
for daring to stretch
their necks farther than they.
Into the tempest of noise,
solemnly peering from side to side,
marched the grade school children.
They had been warned
about being pecked
and so stayed a cautious distance
from the sides of the cages.
They dwindled down
the length of the room,
until they reached the door
located at the other end,
where they filed out one by one.
ONE COULDN'T TELL
Vague with distance purple mountains
abutted the achingly empty blue sky.
The sibilant sounds of the neighborhood children
playing in the grass could be heard
muted by the widow's glass panes.
It sounded remote as if coming from a long way off.
If the inhabitant of the room heard
no indication was given.
She lay on the bed facing the wall
silent as the space between ticks on a clock.
Darkness filled the room with a veil of black crepe.
The familiar furniture sat subdued and somber.
Laying on the floor, in the middle of the room,
was a broken doll.
One couldn't tell looking at her small, fragile back
but she was crying. Her pretty features
were distorted and ugly with anguish.
She felt as though something were wrong with her,
as if she were stained forever with filth
that would never wash off.
She felt soiled and violated and had been.
And now she was lost and alone
down a bottomless well of human misery.
RUMOR MILL
Rumor has it that the radical right has been pursuing a policy of subliminally
inducing sex crimes, as a means of entrapping targeted individuals.
Of the
victims of the radical right, a certain large percentage are children
(because
they generate more attention in the media) which constitutes child
abuse. It is
said they feel justified for two reasons. First, if they can
corrupt someone
then they're evil and deserve what they get: their own
corrupt behavior is
conveniently not viewed as being deserving of punishment even though
they plan
and cause the crimes to occur. Second, they think that its alright
to sexually
abuse children if they provide therapy afterwards. It never occurs
to them that
this is wrong and not a very good idea.
For each conviction they receive $2,500; or, to look at it another
way $2,500
for each child that they sexually abuse. If a radical right operative
induces
two crimes a year, then, with a 20% rate of return (tax free because,
one they
can't very well explain their source of income and, two greed it would
take a
bite out of their sordid profits) after a period of just 10 years they
will make
in excess of $150,000 sexually abusing children. Praise the Lord
and of course
its virtuous because its for the sake of children! No doubt,
so Rumor contends!
Rumor Mill whispers that
in our limited geological region 4 cases of the sexual
abuse of children occurred in a short period of time. Nothing
conclusive there.
The incidents of child sex abuse all happened within the same time
period, which
is highly suspicious but not conclusive. But, all the cases of
sexual abuse of
children were done by persons of the same occupation. It is like
the old story
where if you put 10 monkeys into a room with typewriters then after
a certain
length of time, of pounding away on the typewriters, one of them is
supposed to
write Hamlet. It could happen but wouldn't. Finally, it
must be noted that the
occupation in question was police officers.
Rumor Mill asks why would
the police be targeted? First, it eliminates
dissident elements from the ranks of the police, the your either with
us or
against us mentality. Second, it provides the illusion that the
radical right
are the necessary moral guardians of the police, who can't even be
trusted to
police themselves. Third, it makes police forces extremely sensitive
to this
class of crime, which is exactly what the radical right wants so long
as not too
many relevant questions are asked. The effect is to increase
the radical right
leverage on local law enforcement in their efforts toward totalitarian
control
over their fellow citizens. Fourth, the strong profit motive,
as it has already
been discussed goes without further comment. So Rumor Mill contends
Rumor Mill goes on to suggest
that their is a pattern to all of this. Just as
with the school violence ( previous issues) their is a progression
of violence
that is necessary for their propaganda model. What starts out
as single
incidents of sexual assault against young women gets worse, if that
is possible.
The age of the victims gets progressively younger, serial rapists are
employed,
and then, when that no longer suffices, the public gets exposed to
a series of
gang rapes. Rumor Mill submits that this process of moral degeneration
transpires whenever society factors in fundamental inequalities, removes
all
moral and legal restraints from fanatical elements who then blasphemously
strip
people of their right of free will and self- determination. The
result of all
of this is that people are no longer free to think for themselves and
they
certainly are not allowed to disagree; which, is the purpose of propaganda,
to
establish the parameters of how people are supposed to think and act.
So Rumor
Mill says.