Where Uncle Sam Is Buried

I went to a meeting. They read a letter. A member of the club went to the American Cemetery outside Manila to find the grave of his uncle. They found the grave and wrote a letter addressed to the club. It told of a twenty-three year old soldier in World War Two, captured on the Bataan Peninsula and led on the Death March without food or water who died of malaria in a concentration camp and never came home to Wisconsin. The family brought home word half a world and over half a century later. The old man who read the letter almost wept and the room fell silent as everyone realized but didn’t want to say they feared despite the sacrifice of a young soldier named Sam and all his comrades in the swamps and steaming jungles of a place so far away, that Uncle Sam has died and […]

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My Magic Pen

Found upon a city street, it writes truth made unbelievable, believable made unimaginable and lies spun into gold. Aladdin got a lamp and three wishes, poor bastard. ♥  

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Lighthouse

They used to call it salvation. They used to stand on the deck. “Captain! God be praised! A light! Off the port bow!” All eyes turned toward the cry. Out there, through the darkness, through the night, through the fog, through the mist, through the uncertainty and certainty of certain death, the light of hope, the flash of promise. A light! A path! A piercing ray! I saw you, heard your voice, thought of you and there! A path to the horizon. A glimmer to my very soul. They used to call it salvation. I call it love now. ♥

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Love

I have fallen in love so many times I cannot count them I have written so many poems, so many odes, so many declarations of the love I feel I cannot remember. I do not want to remember or count the words or the gifts I have been given any more than I could count the beatings of my heart through all this life. Who has the time? Who would stop the sight of all those stars and close their eyes to blind themselves and contemplate in darkness? Let me love. Give me more. If Christ could do it so can I. If God wanted us sexless, loveless, incognito from ourselves and others, He would have made us rocks and we all know how much fun that would be.. Don’t be that way. Pick it up, that otherwise inanimate stuff of which we all are made and to which we […]

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Authenticity

It isn’t for everyone. Some people spend lots of money and it isn’t for sale. In fact, you get it when you can’t afford it and walk away. That starts the process, the long, slow grind of authenticity. When you come back with the money and you still can’t afford it because the price has gone up, that’s more authenticity. When they won’t sell it to you because they don’t like the way you look or smell that’s authenticity, but they’ll never say, because they’re too smart and they assume you’re too dumb to know the difference. They don’t want you to be authentic. They want you to go away. But if you persist, if you don’t give up, if you try with all your might you can beat them and remain authentic, now that you’ve gone to all the trouble of telling them to go to hell authentically. ♥

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Papoose

They tied me to a board, tightly, but not to hurt. I cried because they tied me to a board and hung me in a tree. I cried because they left me hanging bound. I could not move. I cried because I could not move. I wanted to move. I felt hunger. I felt sad. I felt alone. I felt afraid. They did not come. I cried because They did not come. I felt anger and fury and hate and I cried all the louder, until I felt my heart and lungs and mind would burst, but they did not burst and no one came and I grew quiet. I stopped crying. I gained my silence. Then they came. They took me down. They untied me. I knew then they knew what I knew for myself. ♥

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Thorns and Birds

Birds, little birds frolic, fight and flutter through the deadly snarl of branches of a rose bush in my yard. It’s a metaphor. Life is full of blooms and thorns and why not play amid the complexities of life? I built the birds a house for their enjoyment. They do not care. They do not use it much. More fun to jazz among the deadly thorns and roses. ♥

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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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