My thoughts on how I am forced to write in prose vanished from my blog. Elves? However, I am trying again to express the sadness I feel that events make me reduce the poetry in my head to prose on the page. How else can one write about the robbery of the poorest to aid the richest? Robin Hood stories have been told about heroes.
We need someone to put the poetry back into our hearts and lives. It is a season where the earth starts its journey back to summer. A season ripe with hope often, but this year prose is the only way we can discuss how life is going.
We have been had by one who has it all. We are getting coal, not tax relief, in our stockings. Perhaps that is how Trump is reviving the coal industry….ordering a lump for everyone under a million dollar income. The depressing ending to a year of global degradation and political strife.
Let’s have angels in the sky for the New Year singing something positive. Trump’s dirges make the world a sadder place.
Charles Manson, who thought he was the devil, is dead. However, the devil is not dead. Just an old man who used his life for evil. We are cautioned to speak only good of the dead, but what is there good to say about Manson? I hesitate to say , of course, I did not know him personally. Perhaps he did perform some kind acts. His public acts were otherwise. We locked him up for them and forgot him. But did the loved ones of the victims? and those who may have had some affection for him?
We should be careful in our desire not to be to bitter to recognize there is still evil in the world. Dark unknowable motivations that make an eclipse permanent of the bright sunny life.
If there is re-birth we will see his like again in another form. Don’t look for it. Plenty of sorrow here to gaze on, reflect on, and learn from.
We are all of us sad that the hurricanes have made an angry comeback again and again. There is a fatigue to so many horrors hitting our lives. I feel the shaking of the winds in the news stories and the desperation of the people. I feel the fear of the animals who understand less than we do. What I cannot feel is the self-satisfied actions of a President who thinks he is being benevolent by hurling paper towels at the crowd. Is that his answer to the need to clean up?
There are those who believe we possess a third eye that sees beyond what our two eyes do. I would love to find that deeper sight that is not just for the gurus and mystics. We need such vision too. Now that I am having cataract surgery on my two eyes, I’m glad no doctor can operate on that other eye that is either metaphor or reality to those who look beyond outward vision.
One of my students once asked me if the Vietnam War was important. I had a quick mental flash of so many pictures of coffins lined up, a child burned with napalm, heads cracked at the Chicago convention, and the weariness of the soldiers sent. Like many others I am waiting to see what Ken Burns Documentary makes of the War. I was living in London when some man in a pub slammed me against the wall when he heard my American accent over the conflict in SE Asia. I was stunned. He did not seem to care about my personal views, just that I was symbolic of America.
Echoes of the past still alive in music and protest and those who survived as well as those we lost.
Icicles are not what we thnk of on an autumn day, but the spreading cool has suddenly made me know where this year is headed. Where, of course, it is always headed. The sunflowers in the garden persist even with the ragged threads of dying plants clinging to their stems. I usually write better in the fall, but this spring and summer have made me busy , not knowing when the icicles of old age would start to form.