Deadly Farce

He would rather be wrong than uncertain
As he leads us through future’s dark curtain.
So he practices wanton imperfections
Loudly broadcasting his misperceptions.

Some say he is an obsessive liar,
Cannot speak truth even with pants on fire.
He allows no facts to cloud his vision,
He gets it wrong with pinpoint precision.

And yet some still cheer, “He has spit and spunk.
We do not care if he spews so much junk.”
They too see everything as so wrong –
They are so angry they will go along.

Perhaps it might be treated as a joke --
Roll with the laughs (and ire) his words provoke.
Do not drink bleach or pop unproven drugs –
Ignore the nonsense with dismissive shrugs.

But when his words make America grate
And when lives are lost and risks elevate –
It is hard to laugh at or ignore it –
What he breaks – will we ever restore it?

The Unbelieving Optimist

When you look through uncertain haze,
Is it pessi- or opti- mist?
What will come in the future days –
Things to be wished or to resist?

I tend to think all will work out,
With problems I can overcome.
But in gut feelings, I have doubt
And fear things may turn much more glum.

Should I believe what logic tells
Or let emotions have a vote?
Do not ignore the warning bells,
But worry not ‘til their first note.

Masks for the Masses

It’s not that I would not like to see
Their many faces smiling back at me.
But until this current crisis passes
I will be making masks for the masses.

Plucked down at my handy sewing machine,
I sew the masks to ease the quarantine,
To help us all go outside safe behind
A simple mask, each with its own design.

So, when I pass you on the street someday,
‘Though I will be at least six feet away,
You can know even when nobody asks,
I am happy you have one of my masks.


Dedicated to my sister, Amy, the mass mask maker

Her reply:
There’s a woman in our community
Who sews every day inscrutably
Obsessed with the task
Of making face mask 
To help with Covid immunity.

Xenotopia

In the place with no two things the same –
Xenotopia may be the name –
Live many people from far and near,
Although not even one is from here.

You will wake each morning to new sights –
You decide if they’re frights or delights.
Nowhere you will find old friend or foe;
None can guess where overnight they go.

No sense of balance there to be found –
No well-known anchor on which to ground –
All points of reference are too dull
To catch on a bias in your skull.

Without a knowledge of commonplace –
No luxury of old thoughts to trace –
You must learn everyday anew;
You think that is something you could do?

COVID-19 Soliloquy

To mask or not to mask – Is that the question?
Whether ‘tis nobler in public to suffer
The inconvenience of government orders,
Or to bare face before a sea of people,
And by opposing risk them: to die, to weep;
No care; and by this act to say we end
The sacrifice and thousand irksome pangs
That we were subject to? ‘Tis rebellion
Selfishly to be wished. To endanger,
Perchance to kill; aye, there’s the rub,
For in pain of others, what guilt may come,
If they shuffled off this mortal coil,
Should give us pause. Is there respect
That makes sacred and dear all human life?
For who would demand their whims and comfort,
Their vanity’s relief, their free man’s choice,
The encouragement of a stranger’s smile,
The religious shelter of their beliefs
That neglects other unblessed heathens,
When they themselves might our safety protect
With mere cloth mask? Who not the burden bear,
To care and think beyond their selfish want,
But that the fear of endless quarantine,
The undetermined future, chafes kindness
To its most slender and close dimensions,
And focus on the more immediate
Than feel for others that we know not of.
Thus unease slightly loosened begs for more,
And the strength of our forced resolution
Is weakened by the thought of its return,
And social efforts of import and merit,
With this failure, their purpose goes awry,
And lose the rank of hero. Lo, watch out,
Here are the police. Cop, in your handcuffs,
Be all my breath exhaled.

Coded Message

There are those who write code
To make instructions clear.
Others’ messages are slowed,
Crypted in wording queer.

I have written in both
With varying success.
Computers fine in troth,
But people in distress.

Knowing what to explain
May help my clarity
And tell my roving brain,
“Combat perversity.”

But rarely I set out
When scribbling in verse
Knowing what I will spout –
By rule, rhyme drives the hearse.