The War Party

“What does it stand for?” a woman asked. “It sounds aggressive.” “It is aggressive,” I replied. “It stands for agression against those who started this war.” ♠ The War Party stands for a suspension of all new highway construction in the State of Wisconsin, because the State of Wisconsin does not need new highways that cost double what  they were estimated to cost when plans were approved and cost overruns have gone unchecked over a decade. It stands for using manpower, equipment and a fraction of the money to inspect, prioritize and maintain existing roads and highways, especially repainting and resigning so motorists can see and know where they’re going. It stands for a complete audit of the State Department of Transportation. ♠ The War Party stands for a reduction in taxation affecting citizens sixty-five years of age and older so the decision whether or not to remain in their own homes is not […]

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Crucifixion

They don’t come to this piece of earth any more, the sun worshippers spread eagle on their robes. They don’t offer up their bodies any more. What they do is pierce the earth, dig down for underground parking and erect an eight or ten story townhouse apartment building on the site. That way money can be made, progress can be served and all but naked co-eds can find another place to get their tan. It’s sad. There isn’t going to be anyone who can afford to live at this address for less than several thousand dollars a month. The view before looked better and came free. ♥

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The End of a Love Affair

It’s all the rage these days. People dying and going away and here I come late as usual after the closing to see what I can see. I remember more than what I see now and that’s the trouble. We live and remember and there is so much we can never forget. It’s like a great show closing on Broadway or a curvaceous ship going under the waves. Everything had a place. Everyone knew their lines and now it’s all gone. There’s nothing left, except a mannequin in the upstairs window. They used to rent costumes. This one is a Tyrolean maid with white blouse and laced bodice. She’ll never walk again. Here in the dumpster is the revolving display for reading glasses. I bought glasses off that very rack. Now it’s going to the dump along with paper flowers, unused prescription bottles and a wine caddy. They sold wine […]

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No Further Contact

Say no to love and love will let you have your way. Love will grieve and love will say, “Remember words you wrote upon the sand and let the tide erase,” but if you choose to work at life and forbid play, love will remind you what the Bible says, “Cut off your hand, gouge out your eye if they offend you.” Only be sure they do or you mutilate what love itself created. If you choose tidy love and immaculate conception, love will say no to its own emasculation. ♥

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Robin Song

We’ll get it right eventually. You sing homeless and destitute, bereft of any pillow for your head, throat open to the sky and no assurance of a mate, but you sing and so do I. You go to no war, affiliate no politics, have nothing against sparrows or starlings though they fly in the same sky and you sing, sing, sing the jazz of life and my fine feathered friend, so do I. ♥

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You’re Safe

There are so many beautiful sounds in the night. There are so many lights in the darkness. So much love fits into the universe of which the universe is only a part. Yes we are dust and to dust we shall return, but we are for now alive and life is the dust of love. ♥

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Door of Life

The door to my office is a door of life. It opens for me because it is never locked. I open it and close it at will. Today as I reach out and open it again I step into a different world. Macaws cry piercing the tepid air with their shrill screams of indignation at my presence leading an expedition fighting our way back from the torrid zones of discovering the world’s largest diamond embedded in the jagged rocks of Optimisto Thule, pulsing volcano of legend, never conquered by any soul alive to tell the tale. Return is problematic. My men fear. The porters descend to mere hysteria, but I am sure, the words of my mother’s favorite poem etched upon my heart, ‘I am the master of my fate,’ quoth she. Yesterday we sailed for Cowabonga on the tide, headed home a hold full of spices, silks and statuary, the […]

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