The United States has 41 Flag Holidays, days dedicated to specific events when flying the flag is in memorial to things joyful or gut wrenching. June 14th is Flag Day, it’s also the birthday of the ONLY U.S. President that I hold or have held in utter contempt of the eleven presidents under which I’ve lived. Happy birthday, Captain Bone spurs, Hater in Chief, and Chief Insurrectionist!
I pray that I do never see birthdate more filled with irony! June 14th, in the USA designated Flag Holiday?
Forty-one dates we dedicate in remembrance both sad and great. From New Year’s Day to Christmas true we fly our lovely red, white, blue.
MLK in January for most noble human being. March ninth wrongful Detainee Day, Memorial’s last Monday May.
Juneteenth, we honor 6-19 Dred Scott was a HUMAN BEING! July fourth and 9-11? Pearl Harbor, December Seven.
All of these are days most noble, forty-one is our grand total. Each day worthy of a hymnal, Flag Day is great, but June fourteenth?
Birthday of most vile being, Donald J. Trump, conman in chief! Born June 14, nineteen four six. First year what’s called Baby Boomers?
Progeny post World War Two-ers. He holds self above the law, Captain Bone Spurs, ayatollah! Our Dictator for mindless mob.
Worshipers’ despicable slob, Richard Nixon did better job! Had Donny T been born Leap Day? Liar’d swear he’s just fourth his age.
A reading of my birthday poem for Donny J. “Bone spurs” Trump!
When I met the girl who became the woman I would marry back in June of 1980 we were both 19 years old. We married in May of 1986 and have shared forty-four springs together, 38 of them as husband and wife. My wife is anything but easy, but everything I need!
Rock of Gibraltar in jealousy gazes in wonder strength of you. Physique of woman half your age, you’re answer to prayers I never made!
Forty-four Mays, forty-four springs, can’t count the number of joys you bring. Thirty-eight years since we pledged, “I do,” countless blessings I’ve found in you.
God in the heavens? Simple blind luck? In your presence I’m thunderstruck. Your strength of purpose easy to see, stand by your side eternity.
Patience of angel? No how, no way! Ever after, darling please stay. Alpha, Omega, sine qua non! Without you doubt I could go on.
Exaggeration? Fear it’s not so. You give me strength, upward still go. You’re far from faultless, what goddess is? Bring Olympus to life I live.
Thorns go with roses, along with blooms, feel your glory when enter room. Partners in life, partners in crime, you as life partner are gift sublime.
Poetic license? Nary one whit, YOU’RE the Alpha of alphabet. Cusp of summer our wedding day, for you still burn, sweetest dolce.
Hellion, spitfire, goddess Durga? All this is you, apocrypha! Alpha! Omega! Never Janus, you my darling spell completeness.
Rock of Gibraltar in jealousy gazes in wonder strength of you. Physique of woman half your age, you’re answer to prayers I never made!
I met my goddess and future wife forty-four years ago in June of 1980. Here’s a “short” poem commemorating our beginning.
Freshman at UMCP started dating Betsy P? Was this movie we did see? Gigolo with Richard G. Tuxedo, occurred to me was the ultimate style thing, purchased the color neri. Forty-Four Years Ago
Lived with my mom and my dad with arrangement those two had. Room and board both were cost free! (Caveat scholastically.) College then was mighty cheap, four-two-zero dollars reaped semester at College Park. Forty-Four Years Ago
August nine-teen-seven-nine, brother Steve school one last time. Internship long with BS, nine semesters Steve attends. End for him, begins for me freshman year UMCP. Forty-Four Years Ago
Seven living in our house? Penultimate, I lost out. Carport on Butterchurn Lane? Single car was its restraint. Mom and Dad, they both had cars, Steve did too, pickup one more; I was told no car could buy. Forty-Four Years Ago
Steve’s Camero we would go to College Park from our home. First semester worked just great! Lost my ride Steve graduates. My Mom put out feelers, see? Made arrangement Kathy B, rode with girl knew junior high. Forty-Four Years Ago
My Daddy is Francis C., pioneer driver safety. Health 280 was a class SIPDE learned so do not crash. May arrived classmate did say, “By bike I do now away.” Figured he could so could I. Forty-Four Years Ago
April, I had turned nineteen, month of May I did ghosting. I stopped calling Betsy P., took to her prom A. Gorney. Academy Holy Names, Owen and Ann did entreat if to girl’s prom I could take. Forty-Four Years Ago
Owen former grad student, in sixties ISU went. I said, “Sure, I own a tux.” Went out one date, just for luck. Borrowed Daddy’s car for prom, Andrea towards me stayed calm. Fast-forward Memorial Day. Forty-Four Years Ago
My buddy, Jack Rietweisner, loaned me brother Henry’s ride, on it zipping I did go. New Hampshire Drive I pedaled. Rode that bike about a week then A.G. on bike did seek, set out for Gap College Park. Forty-Four Years Ago
Over fifteen-mile ride from my house to Gorney spied, seeing me she was displeased climbed back on bike and did leave. To the bike I had attached lousy light, darkness no match, as the sun set headed home. Forty-Four Years Ago
Adelphi to New Hampshire on my bike pedaled westward. Soon turned dark as headed north, pedaled homeward back towards source. Made right turn and carried on, though’d struck-out, not woebegone. Got honked at Columbia Pike. Forty-Four Years Ago
Boys nineteen are known to be young and dumb and full of… ..some. Time was only half-past nine, riding bike I felt sublime, so a detour did decide would be a thing fit me fine. Moved to left lane Randolph Road. Forty-Four Years Ago
At a red light I did wait, no idea what’d be my fate. Heard the screech of brakes then flew over hood of a Bug, true. In 280 I had learned bout the triple bounce concern pedestrians hit by car, slow speed counted two, no more. Forty-Four Years Ago
Driver jumped out from his car, tears were flowing, he was scared. Lying prone on median that driver I did command, “Go to fire station, Man! MCFRS two-four, and ambulance do implore.” Forty-Four Years Ago
With tears flowing man did go while I self-assessed the blow. Broken bones did not plague me, feared internal injuries. Paramedics soon arrived, suggested I take a ride. So to hospital did go. Forty-Four Years Ago
Insurance information from driver I had glistened. Gone from p.m. to a.m. before from ER released. My mom she did answer phone, said, hand phone progenitor. “Where are you?!” Mom did repeat. “In hospital,” then Mom shrieked. Forty-Four Years Ago
“I’ll give phone to your father!” shook young head at her blather. Francis C. came in pickup, was Creative Landscapes truck. Brought me home, I took a bath, then in my bed slept at last. Forty-Four Years Ago
Next day I called into work, explained I would miss next shift. Story spread throughout restaurant, future wife’s first day did vaunt. Heard of me before we met her first day store’s management. Also called Jack bout bike see. Forty-Four Years Ago
Next week Jack came picked me up to purchase a new ten speed. Bought new wheel for Henry’s bike I rode home from work that night. Berek brand of my bike lights still pathetic but sufficed. It was June 1980. Forty-Four Years Ago
July started dating bride, by August I was inspired. Moved away on Halloween, followed her and always been the best thing happened to me! (Took a while for me to see, she’s the better human being.) Forty-Four Years Ago
Here’s another fast forward? End of May 1986? Last day name of Patti T, when that woman married me. I was dressed in my black tux, the same one I had purchased. (I still have it, and it fits!) Thirty-Eight Years Ago
Before altar we did stand, pledged our love everlasting. Moniker of Patti T been replaced by Durga, see? Bride is fierce and she is tough! Amazed for her I’m enough. Best. Decision. Ever. Made. Thirty-Eight Years Ago.
By the way, and by the by? Ever after I still ride. Every single year since then use bikes for transportation. Sometimes more and sometimes less, there’s no doubt bikes life has blessed. As Patti K can attest. Hoping for a score years more! Maybe 2050 go?
Far too frequently “Common sense” is synonymous with confirmation bias. We “know” something and we look for anecdotes and tidbits that confirm our personal opinion and prejudices. Here’s a little poem for everyone who “Does their own research,” for the sole purpose of finding data that supports them rather than learning more about a subject.
We love telling lies of the pablum type declare equal chance, though we know that’s hype. Some can rise above from the murky depths while others fritter from great wealth to debt.
It’s a simple game where we blame victim say their lot in life is by God given. Know that our blessings are sign of His love while others suffer cuz of things they’ve done.
I’m not saying they’re stuck in humble means just saying for some take Deus Machine. Don’t tout a true tale ‘bout one who succeeds as a role model to billions who bleed.
“Once upon a time,” we start fairytales repeat ‘em enough become Holy Grail. Nineteenth-Century we had Ragged Dick Horatio’s book that children should pick.
Lie declares we all have an equal claim? We’re dealt varied hands in life’s poker game. Biological or arbitrary, some get a head start, other chains can’t see.
Bleed life blood away cuz color of skin without declaring how chained to station. Can the chains be broke? Well of course they can, but they best not count on goodwill of Man.
The kingdom of Man is a petty race, you ain’t getting yours, cuz that would displace position I have near the center spot I worked hard for mine while you were besot.
We’ve got race and class, we’ve got pedigrees, I can trace my roots to Adam and Eve! Every single one of my ancestors was devout Christian who the Lord adored.
I don’t drink whiskey, and I don’t drink beer, never smoked ganja, let me make this clear, body’s a temple, a singular gift, and while I’m living taking care of it.
I can’t understand how the poor don’t see that if they work hard, they’ll succeed like me! How whiskey and drugs are dragging ‘em down if they’d just believe, by God they could rise!
I’m no ascetic, oh I like my fun but doing self-harm? That defies reason. We’re given a gift from the day we’re born some darn near perfect some quite weatherworn.
I pray every night for downtrodden poor and I tell them all Jesus Christ is cure! Need to know their place in hierarchy if Kingdom on Earth they would like to see.
Human beings are AMAZING! We kill one another with total impunity in the name of God(s) rather than stating the truth: IGMFYG!
The death and pain and mayhem that whole world does surround Performed in name of causes of noblest profound. Battle for Allah’s Glory, and Mother Russia too, Make ‘Murica great again is thing with arms can do!
The death and pain and mayhem that whole world does surround Performed in name of causes of noblest profound. We battle for God’s Glory great brotherhood of Man Extolling our side’s virtues while condemning all them!
My ancestors were gifted by God up in the sky The holy land we fight for that devils try to pry. The land on which we’ve toiled to create Paradise That Heathen Mongrels covet and for which we would die.
My authentic stone tablet created by God’s hand Is deed indisputable forever hold this land. Our tribe is sons of Adam long with daughters of Eve and any who dispute this are with Devil in league.
All are welcome to visit, make holy pilgrimage, may even have work visas but NOT be citizens. We long to beat to ploughshares the swords with which we’ve warred but when we opened our arms tenants turn to Hussars.
Almighty in The Heavens has an eternal plan It is God who does dictate where who on Earth can stand. The fishes have the oceans and the birds have the skies when it comes to Fatherland invaders flee or die!
God created continents six-thousand years ago with passing of centuries from TWO to BILLIONS grow God’s word remains eternal as does His Holy Plan any who claim otherwise in league with devil stand.
With sadness beat our plowshares into atomic bombs, only use for self-defense promise you can count on! Not nine-thousand square miles is land we claim as ours You’re welcome to rest of Earth infringe not on borders.
The death and pain and mayhem that whole world does surround Performed in name of causes of noblest profound. Battle for Allah’s Glory, and Mother Russia too, Make ‘Murica great again is thing with arms can do!
Lengthy has been the journey, four-point-five billion years, modern homo sapiens, hundred-sixty-thousand here. POINT-zero-zero-three-six when we’re talking percent since modern humans evolved the rest patent nonsense!
We are the only species patently specious who claim that our great fictions as Right for viciousness I say to all who murder in name of God or King if truly were a Heaven it ain’t where you’re going.
I have a family history of depression as well as physical ailments including severe arthritis, and physical and mental pain had been morphing into anguish BUT for nine weeks or so I’ve been on the mend and lately I’ve been feeling good! Here’s a tribute to feeling optimistic and ready to face the world.
Feeling Human Again! Optimism’s funny, glass half full kind of thing? Hope sweet blossoms of May don’t tumble end of spring. Been living in a funk since autumn of ’15, not constant depression, but hurricane warnings.
Am creature of habit, I flourish with routine, while facing challenges that help mind stay keen. Loved being a father to our pair of young sons weave and weft of fabric, made me feel encompassed.
Know when comes to marriage I wed ravishing queen, strength of iron maiden. (Both senses of meaning.) Followed goddess Durga, as seven times before, in pursuit of her dreams; my mighty bread winner.
We left both sons behind when moved to Florida state of agitation where depression begun. Feeling hale and hearty when moved to Tampa Bay, Half-backed up to Raleigh where we still live today.
Lower than sea level is where horizon’s been? Though ascended mountains soon tumbled down again. Birth of my grandchild? Unmitigated joy! Grandone’ magnificent; heart belongs to that boy.
Body, mind, and spirit tormented every day sunk into the quicksand and ever darker gray. Racked with failing body set out in search of cure nothing seemed to help much, despite years of labor.
Little sense of purpose as walls came closing in? Pains that once were niggling body soon attacking. Enjoyed running races on foot or bike or swim rheumatoid arthritis leaves only one of them.
Physical therapists were sacred number three relief they provided fear miniscule did see. Say it’s always darkest hour just before dawn? Few days after Easter felt bit less woebegone.
Pain wracking my body, mist befuddling mind? Seemed to be receding and felt less misaligned. Cautious optimism, held with extended arm, was this just cruel phantom, or had I found lucky charm?
Daily exercises I’d done begrudgingly now embraced with furor as relief they did bring. Climbed the HIGHEST mountain! (East of Mississippi.) Could body, mind and soul be in recovery?
Two score days since relief from both my pains and woes smiled sweetly to me, my optimism grows. I am far from pain free, rely on medicine, but there is such glory feeling human again!
May will soon be over, and June brings end of spring, hope my pain’s remission not temporary thing. I’ve no way of knowing what my future does hold but this optimism, hope ever to extoll.
My wife decided we should fly from the USA to Italy and go hiking in the Dolomites this August and I decided that despite my abysmal record in learning a second language that I should try to learn a little Italian. If we emphasize “LITTLE” then I’ve been successful as I’ve learned just a little Italian in three months and I have nearly three more to learn a little more.
I am monolingual though I have tried and tried to learn second language Spanish first caught my eye. Far away, long ago, when I was in grade eight I studied Español success was far from great.
Next year as did advance to Sherwood, my high school, gave Spanish second chance thought learning it’d be cool. May have been distracted but hardly did advance and come wise fool school year no Spanish I did chance.
I’m a Baby Boomer and to eighth grade did go Argyle Junior High year nineteen-seven-four. Fast forward to college August seventy-nine, once more in Spanish class gave Spanish-One a try.
Disgraced comedian, one Bill Cosby by name, poked a bit of self-fun when to Italy came. Sitting ristorante where cameriere asks if Bill needs translation and Cosby gives bombast.
Cosby in sixties skit declares to wife Camielle, four years of Spanish One can surely order meal! Hubris does acknowledge Corso primo arrives when instead of pollo crow with feathers does dine.
Mention accused rapist that technicality prevented his serving sentence approprit’ly. For I took Spanish One for class numbering three though each time learned a bit escaped duocity.
I know little Spanish but come millennia I took a different tack in ignorant sailing. Dear departed Father to Switzerland would go to visit cugini where his papa did grow.
With father and brother we flew across the sea along with better halves, a-k-a our mogli. Months before departed borrowed from sorella textbook on Tedesco bibliomania.
Tried my hand at German circa nineteen, eight, four no more was successful than with Spanish before. My accumulation of language Aleman equally disgraceful but I did carry on.
Reason for my writing is I’m trying again learn basics of language for cross sea journeying. With my wife I’m going to hike the Dolomites stubbornly persisting capture Italian slight.
I am not proceeding very well in my quest when I speak Italian fear I am all tongue twist. Using Duolingo and while I’ve learned a bit fear like Bill and his bird it’s crow that I will eat.
Over the last five years I’ve taught half-a-dozen people how to ride a bicycle. I started with Herren, a twentysomething who’d never learned to ride and then graduated to youngsters between five and eleven years old, but one of my current students is sixty and rather hard on herself. We’ve only had two lessons and made some progress but I felt she needed a little poem to put things in perspective.
Fledglings from the nest she bumped out with love nearly broke her heart while watched from above. Though knew they were safe under watchful gaze of her lifelong mate aerial ballet.
Mere flutter of wings some can soar with ease others time does take ‘fore they’re in the breeze. Sweetest victory follows long campaign once you’ve learned to fly warble with champagne.
Little Mama bird was her turn to fly song oviparous longed so for the sky. Nestlings had all flown scattered to the winds won’t just pine away with them go soaring.
Tired of impotence she resolved to sail nature’s own sine wave battled to prevail. Song warbled by Byrds Ecclesiastes every season sang confraternities.
Lucky twenty-one, book Hebrew Bible, three times seven times downward did spiral. Heart filled with despair self-flagellation, continued her quest taste of elation.
So many attempts, so little success, hard for her to see unsteady progress. Learning a new skill, each of us unique, fall not in despair sinewave troughs and peaks.
Little Mama bird longed to take to breeze gravity whole world pulls on all birdies. Progress that was made slow, unsteady rate early April dawn to the skies did take!
Journey thousand miles begins, so it’s said, single beat of wings, she soars overhead! Victory most sweet triumph hard fought for Mama bird now knows upwards she can soar!
Everything turn, turn, purpose and a time four seasons of life to new heights can climb. Embrace challenges rich harvest can reap purpose filled lifetime joyful chirp, chirp, chirp!
In addition to me being out to lunch, my wife and I were literally out to dinner last night and were discussing our ever cloudier eyesight when she again expressed a desire for her cataracts to get worse so insurance would cover the cost of surgery when I blurted out in my “best” Bruce Springsteen, “Cataracts, cataracts, opaque veil, I need pulled back.” She smiled, said, “Don’t do it,” and I immediately started making up these silly lyrics and sang them to her via Springsteen’s fantastic Cadillac Ranch song. Thanks, Bruce! It’s satire, so there’s no copywrite infringement.
Well, here I am amigo, squinting son of a gun once was 20-20, but Lord those days are done. Went to ophthalmologist and lenses she did check, said lenses mighty cloudy, by Melchizedek.
I need surgery, both of my eyes if I would chase clouds away once more see sunny skies. Ain’t talking perfect vision, but buddy you can bet, gonna see much better replace my IO lens.
Cataracts, cataracts, opaque veil, I need pulled back. Not ‘bout how I look, ‘bout how I see. Once more see the stars at night post cataract surgery.
Milky Way at midnight is sight divine, but I haven’t seen it since 1999. Never after cloudy is all I seek, so I can count shooting stars that across sky streak.
Cataracts, cataracts opaque veil I need pulled back. Not ‘bout how I look, ‘bout how I see. Once more see the stars at night post cataract surgery.
Hair once dark and curly fallen out or white; no longer make women swoon in delight. Not much to look at, but still long to see, the world and the heavens ever so clearly.
Cataracts, cataracts, opaque veil I need pulled back, but insurance company says eyes ain’t that bad, so ain’t gonna pay!
Cataracts, cataracts opaque veil I need pulled back. Not ‘bout how I look, ‘bout how I see. Once more see the stars at night post cataract surgery.
A poem of approximately 365 words that encapsulates how my depression and anxiety rule me even when I’m in a peak rather than a trough.
Penultimate day in month of my birth, since turned sixty-three seems I’ve found a berth. A niche, a cubby, a space that feels right, feeling optimistic as I now write.
My mindset, my essence, gives me stink eye, depression and worry at core of I. My mama schooled me keep at steady keel, lest peaks and valleys my potency steals.
Knew of what she spoke, dear mother of mine, as her childhood was most trying time. My mama’s mother was given name Ruth, famine and hardship fam’ly faced forsooth.
Ruth’s brain chemistry left her in despair, so to asylum Grandma Ruth sent there. A century back, nineteen-twenty-four? Fear psychiatry offered little cure.
Electricity they zapped through Ruth’s brain. These convulsive shocks did not make her sane, but as convalesced sanitarium? My grandfather Phil made hard decision.
Phil placed my mama and Mom’s big brother, in an orphanage as Ruth recovered. Phil had little choice, as they were quite poor, and with children safe Phil could go labor.
This shocking story, pun intentional, is tale based on facts, not tale fictional. My mother preschool had only her bro to offer comfort lived ill libretto.
Grandma Ruth discharged as doctors declared, “Electro convulsion Ruth’s brain has repaired.” Great declarations with most meager thread any advancement sickness in Ruth’s head.
Hippocrates’ line bout first do no harm? Human Guinea Pigs? No need for alarm. In name “Greater Good” we’ve lobotomies, Syphilis Study, down in Tuskegee.
Taken great detour, circuitous route, a Great Circle trek near whole globe did flout. I now shall return to the present day and optimism penultimate sway.
It’s not been two weeks since turned sixty-three, April’s most pleasant of months, least for me. Flowers and sunshine, such Earthly delights! Hope springs eternal lovely April nights.
Calm water sailing, with all my needs met. It ain’t paradise but is Heaven sent. Sinewaves of my brain, the peeks and the troughs? Currently surfing; at this I don’t scoff.
But I have been taught, and I have been schooled, to know yin and yang can never be fooled. Dark days are coming, no doubt that is true, can’t I rejoice in my current mellow?
Penultimate day in month of my birth, since turned sixty-three seems I’ve found a berth. A niche, a cubby, a space that feels right? Live in here and now? For this I must fight.