Happy Life

If you want to keep your marriage
From falling apart,
Just keep on pushing
That shopping cart.

Mother Daughter Haiku

Strange, small reassurance,
Hearing the sounds of their arguing,
Meaning all is normal.

Powerball Winner

Standing at the counter of a country
Convenience store, carefully looking
At the numbers on a ticket you bought
Last week, along with items for cooking,
You slowly understand what ought
Not to happen is actually coming true,
As the numbers match-up, one-by-one,
With the real big winner, and you
Realize you will never need to worry
About money again, and your heart
Beats fast, as it all sinks in, you hurry
To double-check, and the numbers
Are plain proof, that for better or worse,
You are now very rich, which could be
Your future's paradise, or a curse.

French Roast

It's the second cup of java
That will wake up and urge,
Ideas and imagery
To tumble and surge.

Our Saturdays

We'll soon be off, to perform
Our well-worn week-end
Routine, first coffee and warm
Pastries, checking out news
On our hand-held devices,
Then it's off to cruise
The aisles of the big box store,
And we're with each other,
That's enough, don't need more.

Surveillance Reports

The new gray morning is greeted
By cries in the language of crows,
Exchanging intelligence on locations
Of a garbage breakfast, I suppose.

Walmart, 23 November 2012

A funny, ugly, sight
Of shoppers involved
In a Black Friday fight
Over trinkets, they
Push, punch, and bite.

Stump's Story

Cut and fallen, nothing left, it appears,
A gnarled trunk and roots remaining,
But that's enough for the tree spirit
To endure doggedly, quietly, retaining
A hundred years of sensations,
Breezes above caressing branches
Which gave leafy haven to generations
Of lives smaller than the grand old tree,
Who now, laid-low by a chainsaw,
Embraces its existence, stoically.

(Photo by Geoffrey Hamilton, 1955-2011)

Pilgrims And Indians?

We give thanks for what we perceive
To be happiness, meaning full stomachs
And the food and water we receive
Through a system complex beyond our
Imagining, we give thanks for the peace
And order made possible by the power
Of a system too big to comprehend,
For which we pay taxes, and we kill
So many turkeys, trusting it will
All be O.K., in the end...

A Guest Poem...

The Piper

(By George Thomas)

Blows the woodwind devil,
Play the wicked bard
To his tune all dance
The reluctant dance most hard.

With every act we take
To craft his bitter reed
When draws the time of harvest
We collect from cursed seed.

Decide we:
"Dance this second!"
Decis we:
"Dance next year!"

When comes to call, the Piper,
All pay the price we fear.

Thank You Bayer

What was once a headache
Lurks at the edges of my head
Like retreating jackals, done
With feeding on the dead;
The pain dulled except for
An occasional twitch of nerves,
Still sensitive and sore,
At the back of my eyes,
And base of my neck, yet cured
By a miracle which aspirin supplies...

Post TransPac Flight

Surrendered, could it perhaps be
Other words: handed over, or given,
To the airlines, unconditionally,
To be strapped into twelve hours
Of blood-clotting, butt-numbing
Nothingness which easily overpowers
And stymies any emergent measure
Of comfort, joy, or pleasure;
And so we soldier on, we who have
Surrendered ourselves into the care
Of a meat-pen flying through the air...

A Case Of Relativity

It's a seldom noted fact, that
Time's rate of acceleration,
Increases greatly,
While one is on vacation.

Home Leave Haiku

A lull in the conversation,
Words no longer necessary,
Staring at the camp fire.
- - - - - - - - - -
The Chickadee is fearless,
First to use the feeder,
But doesn't linger either.
- - - - - - - - - -
Garbage cans appear on curbs,
Every Thursday morning,
Proof that life exists in the suburb.
- - - - - - - - - -
Gastronomical epiphany,
At Village Inn restaurant,
"Free Pie" Wednesdays.
- - - - - - - - - -
Sitting in the back yard,
Imagining how it must look
From above, on Google Map

Grown Up And Away

Cleaning out her bag -- the one
She left behind, along with some
Clothes and papers -- "Better done
By herself", I think, as I separate
The saveable things from the detritus
Always found in women's totes, my eyes
Get a bit moist seeing her photos,
A condom in a pocket, surprise, surprise,
"She was always a strong one", I sigh,
Her rebellions, the boys, she was wise
Beyond her years, saying "Papa I'll be fine",
An ache in my heart, each night she went out,
Back in the days when she was mine
To raise and control and worry about...
Now she's gone into the world of men,
And I'm far away, holding her old things,
Helpless to protect her, like I could, back when
I pushed her on the playgrounds' swings...

Drama In The Bushes

The hungry hawk dives suddenly,
And violently crashes
Into the thicket, from
Which a scared rabbit dashes,
Lucky and uneaten,
And the hawk squats down
In the bramble, defeated.

Secrets Of The Universe

Mostly, most of us don't,
Think of infinity, and what
It implies -- most of us won't
Want to know too much,
Because to understand
It accurately,
Basically requires a
Physics degree...
And most of us prefer to
Believe what we can see,
Or congregate with
Others in shelters
Of faith and myth...

With Love, From Talk Radio

Republicans are Red, 
Democrats are Blue,
They won't hear each other,
Until the yelling's through,
And a will to smother
The partisan feud,
Emerges to stop
The venom that's spewed... 
The bitchy, tit-for-tat,
Social-political hate,
Needs to be halted
Before it's too late...

In Memory Of John Lundsten

I'm remembering my Uncle John,
Finally released from his hospital bed
In Oregon, now embarked upon
His journey through a distant, ethereal world --
He can surely look back, perhaps amazed
At where it all began, in the Minnesota
Fields, where he was born and raised,
And learned to lift his wise-gentle eyes
Up to the songs and fluttering wings,
The small feathered miracles of life,
He came to love, along with other things:
Family, friends, and nature -- now he's in
A better place, where a feathered angel sings.