The Truth

fantasy is not a friend

it makes you want what
you can’t have

and try to become who
you were not meant to
be

fantasy is a false enabler
of the mind

all that is true becomes
false and all that is false
becomes true

but only in your mind
not my mind

you own yours and I own
mine and our end will
always be based on

the truth

Odds and Ends 2.20

I am sitting out back on the patio where I usually sit on a stack of pavers that sits next to the hose reel. I use the other short pile of pavers as a table. Just big enough for a cup of ice water and a pen or some such thing. My phone is small enough to rest on the hose reel.

With my pen in one hand and cigar in the other and steno pad on my lap, I try to put my finger on what is so odd about this day after Election Day. I am not sure there is any difference between today after this election day or the day after a hangover. Neither of them memorable or so it would seem.

Looking around, it is actually a perfect no day. No bees, no hornets, no mosquitos, no flies, no squirrels, no birds, no dogs, no cats, no people, and no election day results. But like it or not, I believe there is anxiety in the air.

So, my God, I must ask. God, I am not asking you for my pick, I am asking You for Your pick. The likes of Lincoln, FDR, Reagan are gone. (I know there are more, but I can’t think of any others who stand out at the moment.) I served twenty years in the Army to support our country. It is our duty and privilege to vote. I didn’t want our country to go down the tubes then and I don’t want our country to go down the tubes now.

It is so quiet I can hear the distant rumble and whistle of the mid-afternoon train slowly making its way through town.

Any day now we will learn who won the election and I will thank you, Lord, for the next president you have allowed to serve your purposes for America and in the world.

Closing thoughts.

For me, someday this election will be a distant memory like all the other presidential elections that preceded it. Election Days come and go. My peace in this annoying, anxious, gut wrenching election process, regardless of the outcome, is You, my God.

The presidents or leaders of countries change. But praise God, Lord, You never change—you are the same yesterday, today, and forever. May God bless America.

Ancient History

I put the suitcase I borrowed from
my mother in the trunk and got in
the car.

My father drove and smoked. And
smoked some more. He is usually
lecturing nonstop by now. I cracked

the window open to get some air
then closed it again. His visible
nervousness made me even more

nervous. He started talking. After
each cigarette, he’d open the window
just enough to flick it outside then

close the window without interrupting
his monologue. He never wanted to
hear anything I had to say, so I

listened to his World War II Army
stories again about his basic training
in Burlington. No post there now.

Ancient history.

I think he was trying to give me advice.
He pulled up to the front of the AFEES
building in Newark. As I got the small

vinyl suitcase out of the trunk he asked
me to please write. We sort of hugged.
I started up the steps as he drove off.

Seems like just the other day. That trip
to Newark ended with a late-night bus
ride to Ft. Dix for basic training.

It was fifty-five years ago yesterday that
I enlisted in the Army. Thank you, my God,
for your protection and care. You are my

refuge and strength. You alone are God.
The rest is ancient history.

Shadows in Life

all things are forgotten
by humankind
by time
by design

except for the memories
of war
of abuse
of pain
of suffering

for they are our own
they made us who we are
maybe not who we thought
we wanted to be

and what of the other memories
of joy
of love
of peace
et cetera

they cast light on the shadows
in life with hope for the life
to come

just like the knowledge of God
cannot be listed as a memory

Laura Revisited

Laura. Bracing for storms coming our
way. The first one sort of fizzled out;
second one did not. Waiting for Laura.

I’ve been singing that schmaltzy ballad
from the 1944 movie of the same name
since last night. Whatever happened to

my mother’s copy of Vanity Fair, I’ll
never know. I remember the picture of
Gene Tierney in it and Gary Cooper in

1934. It was a favorite book of mine as
a kid. Laura was a favorite, too. Still is.
One of the few good memories. But

this poem can only end or begin with
one word. Laura. “Laura is the face in
the misty light…”

A Candle of Faith

I can’t be having the thoughts I’m having.
The thoughts of past abuse never go
completely away. I understand that.

Those thoughts spawn other thoughts.
And before I know it, I’m back in a place
I don’t want to be.

Pain and pleasure converge once again
and I’m in touch with the confusion of
the eight-year-old that was me.

It is Satan’s fuel fanning the fires of past
abuse freezing my thoughts for today.
Fiery arrows aimed at the heart to destroy

whatever is true. The breath of an angel is
all it takes to quench this Hell fire and
bring me back into God’s grace and truth.

Light and darkness can never occupy the
same space. All it takes is a candle of faith
to dispel the darkness.