To Those Who Wish to Improve the World

 

I respect anyone

who has kept their heart alive

in this waging world of ours.

the movers and shakers

blood and marrow donators

charity fund raisers

politics chasers

People who go out into the cold

and find someone

who needs a jacket.

People who give everything

who are betrayed and taken advantage of

who stand up again

and again

and walk back into the fray

a broad field of blood, death and destruction

they go right out to the middle

and try to stop the madness

or at least

just try to save one life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

Husk. Also my brother is amazing

Allow me a moment to brag on my big brother. He’s got a blog too, actually, on financial freedom.

https://goldengooseguide.com

He’s been blogging for a year and only had about twelve posts total but he’s already gone viral. WTF Josh. Of course he’s engineered it well with the social media, the eye-catching titles, and original well-thought-out content. He’s the oldest so he does everything well. It’s fascinating to me that no matter how similar we might be in genetics and values and upbringing, our blogs turned out to be nearly complete opposites.

I would feel competitive with him, but he’s so far beyond my limits that I just give up say, good for him. I love him tremendously, so I must be happy for him. And it helps to know, in my heart of hearts, that I can always move into his basement.

Welp, time to air my insecurities again.


 

 

There was a while there

When I wrote gold

I spun golden threads from flax

I wove silk from cotton

I was an unstoppable force

What happened?

I ran out

I spent myself

Now I’m just a husk

Remembering her glory days

A husk

So dry

So dry.

What is a husk?

Was I once a bright and sweet ear of corn?

What else has a husk?

Mummies are husks

Many plants have them

And so am I

 

My seed is gone, germinated

And all that is left

Is this husk

A reminder

That once here was life

That once

I too was human

And vibrant

And full

Pregnant with life

With ideas

With words

Words like you’d never heard before

I had rhymes

I had every kind of poem

All that I touched was given power

With language alone

I animated the minds of others.

Now this.

This husk.

This weak and tired

Crispy

Dry

Thing.

It’s fall

I’ve been harvested.

Nothing left in me

Until next spring.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

Things Grandma Had

 

I think I’m going to reduce to posting once a weekday instead of twice. My creative juices are starting to run a bit dry and need to re-moisten. You know how creative juices are. It’s hard to run with an idea if you’re not well-lubed with creative juices.

Well, this was gross. Let’s never talk about creative juices again.

 


 

Grandma had a gumball tree.

We would play in her yard

Climb the tree

She used to marvel aloud

at how high we could get

and we’d flush with pride.

 

Grandma had a kitchen table.

She used it well

Heaping it with purchased food

sweets the neighbors had given her

dishes her family had cooked.

 

Grandma had four sons.

Three with families

All tall men

Every able-bodied son or grandson

would bump their head

against the low-hanging chandelier.

It was a family joke.

 

Grandma had cable TV.

We would watch it

and eat ice cream from her freezer

unsupervised

late into the night.

 

We spent time at Grandma’s

watching TV

and eating

and talking

and eating

and sometimes she would take us out

to eat.

By the time we left her house

we had costume jewelry

or a dollar store trinket in hand.

She wasn’t satisfied

unless you left

belly hard-packed with food

and both hands full of gifts.

When we got home

we couldn’t eat again

for twenty-four hours.

 

Grandma had a lot of things.

Grandma was a hoarder.

She survived the Great Depression.

But she gave

everything.

She once tried to give me

functional furniture

right out of her kitchen.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

The Fall

 

When Fall passes by

It brushes some trees on top

Some the bottom

Some the side.

Wherever a leaf has been touched

It quickly spreads.

The torch of Fall

Kindles all.

They go graceful, as nature wills

They go with fire, one last glory

Immolating the world.

There is beauty in destruction

And the trees glow with it.

Filtering sunfire

Into their own shade

Coloring the sidewalks

Rose

Lemon

Baby green

Port.

With a farewell kiss

So light

Too soft for all senses

But sight.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


 

 

 

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