Taking Aim at a Solution

Gun control is a controversial argument starter.  Many Americans have guns that have never misbehaved and therefore see no need to discipline those inanimate objects with great restrictions on their rights of association.  Such gun owners rightly perceive that “gun control” legislation is really “gun owner control”.

So, let’s start with both the owners and non-owners admitting to this simple truth – Gun do not need to be controlled; it is the users of guns that are the targets of our concern.

There exist many laws about what an individual is not permitted to do with a gun.  One may not assault or kill people.  One may not intimidate to rob or coerce people.  One may not damage public or other persons’ property.  But with a gun, one can do any of these activities.  The existence of these laws is to define a prohibition and the consequence (penalty) for breaching that prohibition.  The deterrent impact in knowing that some action is illegal does not always prevent the criminal act from being committed.  In our shared experience indeed, there are nearly 300,000 instances each year of guns being used in US to commit these violent forbidden acts.  There are likely more crimes than these recorded murders, assaults, and robberies, but within these reported crimes, one in thirty criminal uses of a gun apparently results in a homicide.

As numerous crime dramas have taught us, crime happens because of motive, means, and opportunity.  Laws prohibiting the various uses of guns work to counter-balance the motives of the criminal (with the perception of penalty to offset (illegal) gain) with a minor effect on the choice of means (i.e. if it was legal to poison a person but not to shoot him, some murderers might change their weapon (although perhaps not a mugger)).  “Gun owner control laws” seek to diminish the opportunity for criminals to commit their intended offenses.  The ease with which an available loaded gun may be employed to commit criminal acts (versus, say, bare knuckles as the weapon) is a great equalizer of the opportunity for more people to do so if so motivated.

Some people argue that it is the imbalance between the armed and unarmed citizens which is the real source of the problems of gun violence in our society.  That is, if all persons were armed with the easily used weapons of death and destruction, the advantage for the potential assailant would be decreased.  My early childhood education in cinematic Westerns suggests that the trained gunslinger might still outdraw the farmer (and the body-armored, semi-automatic armed bank robbers might feel sufficiently confident against a lobby of bank customers with pocket derringers).  Such gun owner rules requiring more people to carry guns do not seek to lower opportunity, but offer the prospect of increasing the counter-balance to motive in the face of ubiquitous defense and reprisal amongst the potential victims.  With the increase in mutual annihilation at the scene of crimes, we might indeed see a decrease in costly judicial proceedings (and corrections housing and supervision) against the deceased criminals not persuaded by this increased risk.

But perhaps lost in the solutions of the escalation of gun ownership as a deterrent on criminal motivation is the fact that 55% of gun deaths in the US are suicides (and another 5% are unmotivated accidents).  There are few, if any, documented instances of a suicidal assailant being deterred by his victim also being armed.  Perhaps, as a society, we believe that the suicide victim “was asking for it” and so deserves his/her fate (and that self-inflicted gunshots are a quicker and more certain means compared to more resuscitatable methods that might be used).  In the absence of guns, we might reason, those are 12,000-16,000 lost souls amongst us who would find those other means to their ends.

So, perhaps our problem is only that 3 Americans out of every 100,000 are murdered by guns each year (and 30 times that number are assaulted and/or robbed), and not the 4 Americans who die by their own action or by accident.  Motor vehicles kill over four times that many (usually accidentally), we are told, and there is no clamor to restrict their ownership.  Heart disease kills 60 times as many and yet there is no campaign to remove these killers from everyone’s chest.

But, before we rush to arm our toddlers, perhaps we should consider what the other options are to gun owner control: (2) lower the availability of guns, or (3) do nothing (i.e. learn to live with the problem at its current “minor” effects amongst the myriad of other risks we survive (or not) each day).  While the latter option is the most likely outcome of the prolonged debates which will be occurring, let’s examine the reduction of availability strategy.

How may guns be made less available (or useful)?  To whom should guns be less available?

Underlying those questions is the fundamental assumption that “guns should be available (if limited perhaps).”  While it may not be unique in its legal policies around gun (weapon) ownership, the Constitution of the United States of America defines an undeniable right of its citizens to keep and bear arms.  The one explicitly stated purpose for citizens to be armed is “the security of a free state.”  While the amendment suggests that a well-regulated militia is necessary to achieve this purpose, it is understood that the manning of a militia (in the framework of the society of the Founders) was from the individual private citizen drawn into service as needed.  Such a citizen would return to his business when the need passed.

As a matter of history, the original version proposed for the Second Amendment contained a phrase suggesting it was the expectation that every citizen would be armed and ready to serve in the militia unless a “religiously scrupulous” person objected to rendering “military service in person.”  That clause was stricken from the draft submitted for ratification, leaving the restriction upon the Government not to be allowed to infringe (reduce) the rights to arms.  The Government was not prevented from raising the requirement of gun ownership (as the NRA and others may today be proposing).  Indeed, only a few months after the ratification of the 2^nd Amendment, the US Congress enacted a law that required every white male between 18 and 45 to enroll in the militia and bring his own musket, flintlock, or rifle and ammunition.

Thus, growing out of a culture of self-reliance, parochial organization, and even a bit of sanctioned rebellion, we have been placed in our current position by the thinking of our 18^th century Founders.  They allowed the possibility that the nation and society may change and thus need new structure and rules.  One method was in the forceful resistance of its citizens to the tyranny of its government.  But the other was in the peaceful and deliberative process of enacting and amending these rules.

Ask yourself – if the Second Amendment was proposed today, would it be ratified?

If you believe the answer is No, then the clear action required is to Repeal the Second Amendment.  Or amend it to 21^st century standards of technology, society, and culture.

What does the necessity of a militia to maintain security mean in our day?  We now do have fulltime professional armies and police forces doing the duties 24/7 that the old militias were called upon in such emergencies to perform.  The standing forces maintain sufficient arms in their controlled arsenals to equip any volunteer or draftee called into auxiliary service.  The citizen does not need to park a tank (or jet fighter) in his driveway to assist in the national defense.  He does not need a semi-automatic to help direct traffic at a rock concert.  The militias (and their private arms) that might be required are those to oppose government, not to assist it.  Do we as a nation still believe in the rights of private militias like the KKK, Hell’s Angels, and deep-woods survivalists to prepare to fight locally against oppression by our enacted laws?  The Constitution/2^nd Amendment, as is, seemingly states that such “gun clubs” are a necessity for our freedom – does the vast majority of us believe that now?

Or should the 2^nd Amendment be amended to state the more restricted and modern purpose for keeping household weapons?  Recreation – sports, hunting, and collector’s hobbies.  Law enforcement and military defense is no longer the province of the private citizen – those are the regulated and controlled business of governments, local, state, and national.  Perhaps, under the revised 2^nd Amendment, anyone may own a gun, but it may only be carried outside the home (or designated shooting and hunting establishments/locales) when unloaded and/or disabled from use without special government license and permission.  Carrying a concealed weapon (without regulated permission) is always an offense as is carrying a loaded or enabled firearm.  Those with criminal intent may be no less motivated than before, but their opportunity to get weapons to the scene of their crimes will be limited by the vigilance of those around them.  We do not need to wait to see if the person carrying an AK-47 actually shoots before the police can intervene to ensure there is no ability to fire the weapon.

But, if you believe the answer is Yes, the 2^nd Amendment would be ratified today, then let’s give it an in-depth reading to understand what the 21^st century voter has approved.

“A well-regulated militia being necessary to the security of a free state, the right of the people to keep and bear arms shall not be infringed.”

We acknowledge and uphold the right to arms in the context of “well-regulated militia being necessary”.  In the 21^st century, we do not understand “regulated” to mean “drilled to march in regular columns.”  To us, regulations are rules and laws and a well-regulated industry has such guidelines and restrictions on operations from top to bottom.  The Constitution, Article I Section 8 ascribed the regulation of militia to State authorities within the disciplines provided by Congress.  A modern vote to ratify this amendment means the individual private citizen has the non-infringeable right to arms if he/she operates within the regulations of the State militia.  There is not a restriction on the Government to control gun ownership outside of the citizen’s participation and adherence to the regulation of the State militia.  There is no granted power to form, recruit, and train private militias in the Constitution, no matter how well-regulated.  If you think that there should be – Amend the Second Amendment.   Drop the introductory phrase to allow citizens to have any weapons they want for any purpose.  Or add language changing Article I to permit extra-governmental militia to be formed.  But, until the Amendment is modified, acknowledge the responsibility of the State governments to impose regulations (within the context of militia membership rules) on who may own (and register) what and how they may keep, carry, and use firearms.  Enroll in your local State militia and pledge to abide by their regulations.

So, let’s put it to a good, old-fashioned American vote.  Let’s propose two amendments – one to reaffirm the Second Amendment as written by our Founders and another to repeal it (and perhaps replace it with a more modern understanding of what American society wants in its nation and neighborhoods).  Either outcome might give us the ammunition to solve this problem.

Living an Unused Life

Living an Unused Life
   With what I might do, yet do I do it?
What aid left unoffered because none asked?
Why be withdrawn on my quiet hands to sit?
Is my ego idly in the past basked?

How to continue on an aimless path,
Carried by inertia down the same rut.
Without care in the sum, why do the math?
Why do I roam nowhere with a proud strut?

Why get angry if non-goals are not reached?
Why care no obstacles block the nothing
Around the wet sand in which I am beached
With no best prospects at me nudging?

Can I call on my old pal Apathy
To cushion me against ill effects to come
From this uncertain idiopathy
Before, resigned to it, I succumb?

Or should I lie back with job complete,
Done what I might do in the bygone past,
Now a memory unable to compete
As the future without me is recast?

How to linger on as only a piece
Of what once I conceived myself to be.
Find those parts I am ready to release
To Nostalgia's stream to flow away free.

Free from worry and from daily impact,
Unclutter and unanchor my taxed mind.
No comparisons lost when not backtracked --
The future from fresh material bind.

In forgetfulness, we will now proceed
And take amnesic joy in what we do.
With unwitting effort, we repeat a deed
As progress made in our truncated view.

GREEN

GREEN
(in block poetry form)

---

G	rowing forth from the soil springs,
	allant vanguards the weather brings,
	reeting the return of dormant things.
R	ejoice, my heart, at the first sight,
	ising blades to catch the light,
	eleased from hold by winter tight.
E	levate from seed-bound crouch,
	very part stretches beyond a slouch,
	mptying out the reserved pouch.
E	longate as days grow brighter!
	nergize, little chlorophylled fighter!
	nthuse again this reawakened writer!
N	ewly tinted forests and fields
	urture my rebirth from protected shields,
	ow invoking the power biology wields.

Cosgro of the Cosmos

(10/04/1969)

Cosgro of the Cosmos
Was a great warrior.
Cosgro of the Cosmos was a strong warrior.
But he met
And battled
An ant
And Cosgro of the Cosmos
Lost.
He lost.
Yes, Cosgro of the Cosmos,
He lost.

The ant came
And said, Hello, Cosgro.
The ant came and said Hello, Cosgro.
But Cosgro of the Cosmos
Said to him
Get lost
And Cosgro of the Cosmos
Lost.
He lost.
Yes, Cosgro of the Cosmos,
He lost.

Cosgro of the Cosmos
Stamped and tromped, tromped and stamped.
Cosgro of the Cosmos stamped and tromped.
But the ant
Just bent
Closer to the ground
And Cosgro of the Cosmos
Lost.
He lost.
Yes, Cosgro of the Cosmos,
He lost.

Cosgro of the Cosmos
Stamped and tromped himself into the ground.
Cosgro of the Cosmos stamped and tromped himself into the ground.
He stamped
And tromped
Until he was dead
And the ant walked away
And said,
He lost.
Yes, Cosgro of the Cosmos,
He lost.

Roaring Through March

Roaring Through March

Cast off that bulky winter coat of snow!

The time has come for such burdens to go.

Enough is enough, let's have spring begin.

Woodchucks ignore predictions by your kin.

Be it fair or be it covered with clouds,

Let's gather together in friendly crowds

And swap our tales of life shut up within;

Unbundle and unbutton – show some skin.

I have survived another frosty season

And escaped boredom with most my reason.

From mental hibernation, I return

And for next year's challenge I start to yearn.

You may have January as your year's start,

But I feel March a-beating in my heart.

Its rallying rhythms rouse from torpid

Those wintry moods that have grown so morbid.

There may yet remain a snowstorm or two,

A dozen inches to shovel my way through,

But, as before, my cheer increases daily --

Maybe I will learn the ukulele.

DUCKS

DUCKS

(in block poetry form)

Dedicated to UMass campus ducks

 

D	on't know why he is so cute,
	ancing in puddles without a boot,
	ressed in his own waterproof suit.
U	gly was one called in tale
	nder a taxonomy down the wrong trail;
	nlucky mistake, but at least not a quail.
C	hasing students away from his pond,
	lamoring and quacking until the frosh is conned,
	ause a mallard has noise, but almost nothing beyond.
K	ind of awkward waddling on land,
	nocking about from webbed hand to hand,
	eeping up is hard in the marching band.
S	witch to water to see him dance;
	wimming is his forte, you know in a glance,
	eeing his grace, that's what causes the romance.

Biology of Valentines

Valentines

Anatomically:

If my heart is the center for love,

How does it flow forth to you?

From my chest to my head up above,

How will my message get through?

To the lungs to get a big gulp of air,

Down the aorta to every cell of mine,

The flush of my skin and tingling of my hair

Urge my lips to ask, Please be my Valentine.

Genetically:

A sperm went out on Valentine's Day

To find an egg who wanted to play

Meiosis was awfully tough

And left only half my stuff,

So how about we recombine our DNA?

Evolutionarily:

Said the ape to the other in the tree,

If you will my Valentine be,

We can begin to build our family.

If we get a bit of luck with us,

Our son might be Ramapithecus

And he can be a big evolutionary fuss.

Building A Puzzle

Building a Puzzle

Wrapping some mystery in an indirect clue
Is the kind of activity I like to do.
Or prying some out of the shells in which they hid
Has filled many hours long past since I was a kid.

To roil creative juices through little grey cells,
To make the connection and to ring mental bells,
To unjumble the mumble in patterns of sense,
These often give me pleasures both mild and intense.

So do I make too complex that which is easy,
Adding extra unneeded layers to please me?
Never a simple question that you can pose
That I will not mine for more details to expose?

I protest against the obvious that any can see,
Insist more's needed for understanding to be.
The "ah buts" and "what ifs" to consider also
That pushes to never-ending the final sayso.

Feeding the Pessimist

Watch him eat, like he will never be fed again.
The finest cuts leave his appetite still unsated.
Feed me more and feed me now, if you really can,
With what is before him unappreciated.

Why tolerate this thankless personality,
Even if it lives buried deeply within myself?
Wake him up and cast him out to face reality
And see good is still there on a half-empty shelf.

Does the pessimist sitting at my mental table
Bring a balance against easy complacency?
Is this lack of faith of what the world is capable
A rallying challenge of some utility?

The optimist sees too much of what is not there
And may stop chasing dreams while remains more to go.
As bad the premature victory to declare
As to abandon the pursuit in hopeless woe.

Of Micely Men

Of Micely Men

To be bold, I am told, can be cold.

To use wit, without fit, is no hit.

Hold that thought until sought, I was taught.

Good manners, not banters, enchant hers.

To keep friends, silence sends your amends.

Enemy had easy with lips free.

In riot, be quiet or die yet.

Thinking twice, seek advice from meek mice.

Million Gun March

Gun owners, arise!

Cast off your complacent nature.

Come out of your fortified homes.

You are been vilified by the actions of only a few (thousand). You are being labeled as purveyors of violence, corruptors of civilization, destroyers of peace, and perpetuators of outdated American myths.

The time has come to step out of the shadows cast by criminals and show your neighbors who you are. Time to come out of your gun closets and display your pride.

It is time to march. To march to Washington, D.C. And awake the nation to the glory, freedom, and power of guns for good!

What is the true power of guns? Show them. Show that you can assemble one million people with one million guns on the National Mall and have hardly any murders, suicides, and armed robberies. Show them the effect on the crime rate in the District when a million visitors, armed against aggression, are added to its population for a weekend.

When should you march? April 19, 2013, the 238^th anniversary of the finest display of the value of the armed citizen in our nation's history. Remind all Americans who answers the call when our country needs you. Who is there the minute trouble starts? The citizen. Who is there when there is not time to wait for police or the army? The citizen. Enshrined in the Constitution defining our nation is the recognition of the necessity of the armed citizen to preserve our security. Remember that and march to remind everyone else!

There is no right in the Constitution to be a criminal, no right to be a lunatic. But guns do not make criminals and lunatics – they only enable them. March to the National Mall with your heads and your guns held high to demonstrate your sanity and allegiance to the founding principles of this great nation.

Assemble, gun owners! March!

[Unfortunately, I do not own a gun, so you will not be seeing me in your patriotic crowd. But have a good time – April is lovely in DC. Oh, and remember if somebody yells “Duck”, it might not mean an opportunity to hunt waterfowl.]

If I Had a Dream

In our dreams, we see a different world,
Peopled by the real, the wished, and the feared.
On landscapes known and in settings so swirled
We know not if all is what it appeared.

If I had a dream that could become real,
Would it be born of my hope or my fear?
Do we control our mind and how we feel,
To choose which path to follow, where to steer?

If I had a dream, set for all to live,
Would we all equals be, sharing the same life?
No poor, no rich, to all requisites give,
And in uniformity, we would end strife.

What a dull utopia in which to reside
With nothing worse, but nothing better too.
No caste and no history to divide,
But without contrast or change to pursue.

If I had a dream, destined to creep out,
Could I plan all the turns and twist within?
In the churn of my thoughts, do I have doubt
Of unforeseen mischief I might begin?

If I had a dream, someday to come true,
For whom would its machination be built?
Would I contrive to reform only you
Or blend myself into the patchwork quilt?

It may be better our dreams merely guide
How, awake, we deal with one another.
Allow our conscious minds jointly decide
What we owe and are owed by our brother.

Unwrapping January's Present

Upon the white canvas of winter snow,
January invites us to paint afresh.
A year complete into the past did go,
Clearing the way for new thoughts to express.

Our minds drag along old troubles and woe
As we awake each morn to face the day.
That history's load makes our progress slow
As unchangeable past again we replay.

Janus, two-faced god, opens the yearly gate
To move us forth from that to leave behind.
He guards our back against trailing foes irate,
Welcoming us home for peace there to find.

Accept this gift of protected refuge
For these moments now when it is offered.
It is but a trick, mental subterfuge,
And yet an escape from the world absurd.

A chance to stand back, cleanly to observe
The strife we worry into our own head.
The past has lessons to help bend the curve,
But, survived, our fear of it should be shed.

Too easy to repeat the mistakes past
When we become trapped by their rutted path.
Seek a device to break that binding cast
And free us all from blunders' aftermath.

The calendar has ended and begun;
The snow has covered our previous trail.
Let's forget the fights and battles unwon
And together commence a better tale.

Looking in the Rearview Mirror

'Tis not the safest way to move forward
To be looking back at where you've been.
But it can be difficult to know one's whereabouts
Without the knowledge of the path that lead to here.

Trapped in nostalgia, trying to rekindle past ashes,
May yield little energy to power today's craft.
Locked in a view of old familiar memories
Blinds one for oncoming hazard and opportunity.

And yet I do linger on what has already passed
With only faint anticipation for the future yet.
Less than expectation, the feeling is pessimistic;
The pleasant has been balanced by the less desirable to be.

In youth the road ahead is long and unexplored
And with unsatisfied boldness we rush to meet it.
But in the ebbtide, many happy discoveries are behind,
Perhaps gone beyond reach, but not from hindsight.

Does a discontent man drive to reinvent and restart
While the happily complacent merely rehashes and reuses?
Is it gluttony to desire more virgin grounds to despoil
Or to overharvest the same trodden acres to ruin?

Airing of Grievances

(“I got a lot of problems with you people!”)

As we gather today on Festivus,
Or at least as I might wish to imagine,
We may release our mental detritus
When our thoughts carefully we examine.

Perhaps it started as a silly joke,
Made famous on a old television show;
A rebellion from the holidays broke
From which the too many divisions grow.

But we might all indeed get benefit
From an annual cleansing in the air;
We could to each other this once admit
The disappointments we silently bear.

And we probably should also listen
When a grievance is directed our way
To learn of our own flaws from us hidden
Which cause those surrounding us some dismay.

If family and friends were this honest,
Even if only but this once each year,
The rest of the days we would be less stressed
And airing of grievances would bring us cheer.

Joy of Giving

I like to blend charity
With much anonymity.
It is what those who receive
Are reinforced to believe
About the people around
Where help is readily found.

I do not want the credit
But hope to widely spread it
To everyone whom we meet
As we walk out on the street,
To every unknown face there
Who silently within do care.

Yes, I do enjoy the game
Of impishness without blame;
To add the prank to the gift
To give with laughs extra lift.
It makes the giving more fun,
When none know I am the one.

Gathering 'Round the Holiday Tree

Gathering 'Round the Holiday Tree

There are those who say,

In these times of holiday,

That all trees which shine

Are only Christmas divine.

They protest to share

All the decorated glare

With whom believe not

The Christmas tale they were taught.

Which of the magi

Was the tree-toting wise guy?

Did a shepherd haul

The tree to the scene natal?

Maybe I have missed

That gift on the baby's list,

But it's likely true

That elsewhere this folklore grew.

Evergreen brings life

Inside through the winter strife.

Pagans sought its charm

To help them feel safe and warm.

As the sun climbs back

From the deep point on its track,

The memory of spring

To those fragrant boughs does cling.

Christians it deplored

As a mockery of their Lord.

Many centuries passed

Ere with Christmas it was cast.

With food, ball, and light

They covered that borrowed sight.

Not in manger born,

But from ancient customs torn.

Mr. Toad's Bumpy Ride

Mr. Toad's Bumpy Ride

Surely it was late night gastrointestinal distress, I told myself upon opening my eyes. A bit too much dinner, that extra wide slice of pie.

For there I was sitting in the roofless jalopy, bouncing down rough dirt roads. And at the controls was a well-dressed gigantic toad. Or perhaps I, the car, and the landscape had all shrunk to his scale. Under either explanation, I felt my stomach torturously cast about inside my frame with my skeletal structure alternately compressed and stretched with each bump.

“Are we going somewhere?” I asked the driver. “Are we so terribly late that we need such haste?”

“We have made much progress, but we still have a long way to go,” the toad reassured me.

“But where are we going?”

“Forward” was his simple reply.

“Would we not get there at any speed? Must I experience such jostling and inner turmoil for so general a goal?”

“We were on the wrong road when I took the wheel,” explained Toad.  "It has taken almost until now to get back to where we need to start. And the other passengers have become rather impatient.”

Looking over my shoulder into the backseat, I now saw my fellow travelers. A Mole, a Rat, and a Badger. While Mole was enjoying the adventure, Rat seemed quite eager to have this trip end, reverse, or, at least, change course.  Badger, in the middle, was asleep.

“Oh, hello,” I said. “Glad to meet you. How are you chaps doing back there?”

“As well as can be expected,” replied Mole.

“We have not crashed yet,” commented Rat more glumly. “But be assured, we will.”

Badger quietly snored, unanswering.

“You seem quite unhappy to be on this trip, Rat. Why did you come?”

“For the company, I suppose. I scarcely was asked whether I wanted to come or not. Before I could state a single reasonable objection, we were speeding off. Who knows what cliff lays ahead, but Toad holds the belief that with enough velocity the car may simply learn to fly.”

“You are exaggerating again, Rat,” the Badger said in a soft rebuke without stirring. “Relax. Close your eyes and maybe you will see fewer imagined dire possibilities.”

“You do worry an awful lot, Rat,” said Mole in a gentle and friendly voice, “It really cannot be good for you to worry so.”

“Mole, my loving friend, you do not worry enough,” replied Rat. “You accept boon and bust with the same concession to inevitability as though you have no say one way or the other. 'All is for the best' and 'What will be will be'. You are not so insignificant as you chose to believe. Choices can be made, made by you, to guide you to the better and to avoid the worse.”

“But I do not need to choose, Rat. If the outcome of every event is known and selected in advance, how will we have any adventure in surprises and discovery? I would never have met you, Rat, or you either, Badger and Toad, if I stayed tucked into my comfy home under the tree,”

“He has a point,” Badger opened his eyes to state. “Peace and quiet are good for napping, but you achieve little if asleep all the time. The world keeps spinning and changing every day and you cannot hold it back, Rat. No matter how much you may wish. And you cannot know all the changes before they appear, so you are best to be prepared to adapt to what comes.”

“Everyone hold tight!” Toad warned excitedly. Moments later, the car was careening down an extra rocky slope with no sign of slowing in Toad's navigaton of the obstacles.

“Now, really, Toad,” Rat protested. “Use the brakes.”

“No time for that now, Rat,” shouted Toad. “It is only a brief shortcut, I think,” he murmured more softly as he wretched the path of the car around the larger nearly boulders.

“Wheeeeeee,” cried Mole as he poked his head into the front seat between Toad and me. “Oh, that was a close one; well done, Toad.”

“Perhaps you should sit back down, Mole,” suggested Badger, “and let Toad concentrate on his steering.” Mole returned to the seat behind me, but lean over the side of the car to watch the landscape go whirling past.
 
As Toad continued our plummet, I wished that I might too be in the backseat, if indeed I needed to be in the car at all. None of the travelers seemed to question the need for this precarious ride nor their presence here. Neither Mole's exuberant optimism nor Rat's fatalistic pessimism stirred Badger from his patient nonchalance. Toad assumed his command of the vehicle, but the route was perhaps less his priority than his distant goal. It felt like I had seen this circumstance being played out in my waking life as well, for I was surely like the snoozing Badger, ignoring the uncertainties and conserving my energies to deal with what will happen rather than worry or wistfully speculate about the too many possibilities.
 
In recognizing my dream state for what it was, it broke up into cerebral mist again. In the fog banks of my mind, perhaps these sprites will await their opportunity to stage some future drama about their bumpy ride or other adventures or humdrum in their lives together.

No Trepassing Without Permission

No Trepassing Without Permission

Watch your step as you tread on my toes.
I like a zone where nobody goes.
You are free to dance to whatever tune
And to howl yourself hoarse to the moon.

But grant me the space to do the same,
To voice my thoughts and to take my blame.
Let me cross your belief with my own,
Grateful for the patience you have shown.

Fence in your beliefs in your border
And sort them for comfort and order.
But we may listen, yet still not agree;
Our freedom hinges on our courtesy.

Ode to A Turkey

Ode to A Turkey

My tummy aches, and a satiated sleep overcomes

  My eyes, as though chugging Nyquil I partook,

Or shared a case of Ripple amongst the bums

   Until fully drunk upon the bleary world I look:

'Tis not through alcohol that I imbibed,

  Not cranberry, potato, gravy, nor apple pie

     In mountainous piles upon my plate,

       Stuffed as much as I tried

  To feast alongside thy luscious thigh,

     But 'tis your tryptophan rendered me sedate.

O for another notch or two! That belt loosen

  With a sigh of relief from deep within,

Expanding volume and the unpressured abdomen,

   Jiggle, and hearty burp, and gluttonous sin!

O for the bottle full of the pink Pepto!

   Full of the antidote for gustatory abuse,

     With viscous ooze coating all the tract

       And ease for alimentary woe;

  That I might dose and take a peaceful snooze

     And with thee passed through, get my comfort back.

Pass all through, digest, and absorb that

   What thou unbeknownst hath today given me,

The calories, the protein, and the fat,

   Here, where families dine with worshipful glee;

Where ancient Uncle again retells his jokes,

   Where too tall teen at the kids table sits,

     Where but to eat is to miss half the fun

       And risk snickered chokes;

  Where joy cannot hide behind the sacred rites

     Or old travails dull the enthusiatic reunion.

Here! Here! forever thou stay tenderly,

   Not captured by my gut and my body,

But held with gentle clasp of Memory,

   Though synapses age and grow shoddy:

Already thou merges! thy feast hath joined others

   And content Thanksgiving is upon the stage

     Surrounded by its many blessing past

       Dimming out the faded bothers,

   But that troubles passed without permanent damage,

     For here and now we gather again at last.

I cannot see the future beyond my eyes,

   Nor who will attend our next annual feast,

But, in enchanted dreams, my hope will realize

   All such speculation is of importance least:

The laughs, the stories, and good times shared,

   Blessings counted and burdens lifted,

     In camaraderie and assemblies years ago

       And with kin and friends who cared;

   These are what thy festival has to us gifted

     Upon which our fate and happiness doth grow.

Dark meat I eat; and, for many years,

   I have overfilled in a game with lurking Pain,

Taunted him with food stuffed to my ears

   To wrap me head and torso in constricting chain;

Now again precautions were all neglected,

   As experience whispered not on my shoulder,

     Whilst thou are tempting in thy savory aroma,

       Me left unprotected!

   Still wouldst thou entreat, and, not wiser, just older,

     I respond to eat myself into a coma.

Thou wast born for death, delicious Bird!

   The hungry generations gobble thee down;

The first drumstick, the second (but not a third)

   I thought yummy as many for years have found.

Perhaps for more, thy white flesh is as good,

  With thy gravy poured thickly on top,

    In company of an ear of sugar-and-butter corn

      And all other manners of food.

  Arrays of dishes at the table that ne'er doth stop

     To celebrate the sacrifice for which thou were born.

Born! the word that starts all our fates,

   From thee to me my thoughts again turn!

Farewell! and thanks to you and your mates

   For pleasures and lessons we yearly learn.

Bye, bye! Thou hast filled our body and mind

   With much nourishment for today and all year

     As a symbol for this holiday we keep

       To be thankful for what we find:

   Such a ramble to bounce from ear to ear;

     Now, go away – I want to sleep.

Pacificist Reflections on Veterans' Day

A Pacificist Reflections

 on Veterans' Day

I hate war and all its waste;

The nations ruined and lives erased.

I wish there to be no need

For troops that armed conflicts breed.

I never want to make war.

When young, I refused what I abhor.

As years have passed, others went,

To have their minds and bodies be spent.

I now look back at my hopes

In light of how the real world copes.

To wish away an evil thing

Does naught to remove reality's sting.

My Dad went, but never spoke,

Of the flames of war that evils stoke.

To hate the fight, not who fought,

Is what time and life to us has taught.

It doesn't please me they must serve,

But I feel the thanks that they deserve.

I may hope a world at peace,

But they stand ready until wars cease.

How may I help that to be?

The answer has always eluded me.

It is the goal that is wrong

In its certainty for which we long.

The world has no absolutes

And we will forever have our disputes.

From playground to globally,

We will find reasons to disagree.

As we mature, maybe if,

With cooler minds, we'll avoid the cliff.

But in our kind will still be

That looming bit of geography. (pathology?)

Prepared or not, we will fight;

Little pause to ask if we are right.

When over that human brink,

We will struggle to make ourselves think.

So, it is necessity

That I concede to reality,

My debt for unwanted needs

So ably met by veterans' deeds.

The Obligation of Choice

THE OBLIGATION OF CHOICE

At first glance, I thought all the inhabitants had the same bilaterally hued, two-toned colorations.  The black and white patterns split down the center on both their clothing and their flesh.

“Where am I?” was my first query.

Two representatives separated themselves from the crowd and approached me. “Welcome to Volitio,” said one vigorously. “Will you be leaving soon?” asked the other as eagerly.

“Volitio; well, I guess I am truly lost. Can you help me get my bearings? I do not even remember leaving my bed. Which hemisphere is this?”

“North,” replied the greeting, and somewhat shorter, one. “West,” said the taller one.

“May I address you by name? I am Lemuel.”

“You may call me Emil, but my compatriot may not be so ready for such cordiality yet.” The short man extended his hand which I clasped briefly.

“If it will move this along, I am Horace, and you may so address me,” begrudged the taller man. Horace's hands remained at his sides.

“Oh, no,” interjected Emil, “do not feel any haste. Please visit if you have the time.”

“Well,” I said, eying Horace who obviously felt less accomodating, “I would enjoy knowing more about Volitio and its people, since I have been plunked down here somehow. I am sure I will be going back to my own home by the same mysterious method very soon,” I tried to reassure Horace.

“Let's entertain your curiosity and ours then for what time has been granted us. Would you come with us to the assembly hall where we can rest and get out of the sun?” Emil turned to escort me down the street to the nearby building.

“The picnic yard would allow more to participate if we must,” suggested Horace. He turned towards the park in front of the building.

“The hall,” said Emil, showing the first edges of unpleasantness since my arrival.

“The yard,” insisted Horace adamantly. The crowd began to move, dividing into two factions behind Emil and Horace. That was when I first noted the right-white, left-black pattern of Emil (and his supporters) and the right-black, left-white arrangement in Horace's group. And my plaid pajamas with their assortment of blue, yellow, red, and green threads.

I felt the hairs on my neck rise with the expectation of tension. But instead of further wrangling and argument, the groups formed into orderly ranks and files and promptly counted their numbers. Horace's group was larger and those from both factions who wished to continue our meeting moved into the park, quickly intermingling again until their difference was obscured from my notice.

“That was a very impressive display of democracy, Emil,” I commented as I followed him to a small pavilion in the front of the park.

“We will have the next majority,” he assured me. “Those Lefts so often vote themselves into situations they lose interest in pursuing. Happens to us Rights also. Winning takes persistence and timing. Look at all those Lefts leaving now that the Park is chosen.” Looking at Emil then, I recognizes his reference to which side was White in his and Horace's factions.

“Are Volitians naturally pigmented with bilaterally opposite colors?”

“No. It is a choice – we are born with as blank a skin as you have and just as naked. But our children learn to chose a side.” We had reached the low platform where Horace awaited us.

“You will sit in the middle,” Horace said as he lead me to a row of chairs. Emil and Horace sat with their White sides towards me (Emil (a Right) on my left, Horace (a Left) on my right).

“So, stranger, as we see from your childish appearance, you have much to learn,” began Horace. “We will forebear you this opportunity to make up your mind. What do you need to know?"

Although it had been many a year since anyone called me a youngster, I asked politely, “How do you choose to be a Right or a Left?”

“We are taught what is correct by our families, friends, and communities,” explained Emil. “We recognize what we believe in whom we believe.”

“So, do all Right parents have Right children and Lefts have Left?”

“No. Even spouses might not be of the same persuasion. My wife is a Right, while I am a Left,” Horace said. “Two of our grown offspring are Rights and one is a Left. We still have one Undecided at home.”

“And if you changed your mind later in life, how do you change your Side?”

“Why would you change? What is right today is Right tomorrow,” Emil exclaimed.

“And what is left today will still be Left tomorrow,” agreed Horace.

“It seems that sometimes you both agree. Is that true or are you defined by what the ones are not?”

“There are things that are true when viewed from any direction,” Horace declared. “It is our common belief in majority rule that allows our society to decide. We Lefts believe it is equitable, the Rights believe it is efficient, but the outcome is the same.”

“There is nothing wrong with disagreement, only with being disagreeable,” Emil smiled, looking across at Horace.

“Courtesy is too often a mere disguise for dishonesty,” Horace replied, speaking more to Emil than me.

“More is achieved in harmony than in discord,” replied Emil.

“And more of value is built from truth than from disillusion,” Horace countered.

As the men on each side of me started to ignore me, I scanned the audience. They also seemed to have lost interest in my presence and begun discussions amongst themselves. Small groups formed. I watched as topics began, sides stated, and decisions made in a choreography of small votes.  The lopsided kaleidoscopic images of their democracy in action whirled in my mind.  Drowsily, I closed my eyes.

Awaking in my bed, Volitio had faded.  Have I chosen my one side for life?

Visit from Ghost of Birthday Present

Visit from Ghost of Birthday Present

Oh, yes, I knew he would be coming. Joviality incarnate. Yippee, time for another birthday.

Still, I drew the shades and sat near a single lamp, hoping he might decide that nobody was home. I just was not in the mood this year. Gone were my youthful years of eagerly awaiting the next milestone age when some new opportunity would open for me. Long gone.

There was the knock at the door. Did he knock last year? Maybe he has developed some manners. More typically he would materialize behind my back in his prankish practice of “surprising” me. Clap me on the back with a boisterous greeting, designed to lift me out of my skin. Maybe I could ignore him and he would pass on.

Another knock, no louder or more insistent than the first. And, in a while, a third. Every minute or so, another. No, he was neither coming in or going away. Strange. My curiosity overcame my antipathy for his visit. I answered the door.

What an unhappy clown he was! Same shiny suit, polka tie, and fizzy wig as he wore every year, but his face bore no mirth.

“Oh, goodness, what has happened to you?” I exclaimed. “Please, come in.”

He forced a smile to his lips, hardly more than a grimace. “Happy Birthday, sport,” he breathed in a whisper. He stepped over threshold and I guided him to an easy chair.

“Can I get you something?” I asked.

“A piece of cake would be nice,” he murmured. Looking at my expression, he answered himself. “No, I did not suppose you would have a cake. Who does anymore? Mothers looking for healthy alternatives, everyone counting calories, or denying their aging.”

“Well, I really did not see a need to celebrate. I mean I do not feel any older than yesterday,” I protested. “Never feel any younger,” I grumbled quietly.

“I should have applied for the Tooth Fairy job when I had the chance.” He slumped in the chair. “Kids, nothing but kids. By the time they lose interest, they stop losing teeth.”

“Well, you did not need to visit me today,” I said defensively. “I told you before I was done with all this frivolity. Spend your time at children's parties and let us have some peace and quiet.”

“It doesn't work like that. I was assigned to your cohort the year you were born. You are my clientele until the last of you move on. Fewer people every year and even fewer parties. Well, Happy Birthday, old friend. I'll get out of your way so you can do whatever more important things you have scheduled for today.” He rose from the chair, no less disheartened than when he arrived.

“Wait a minute. Since you did come, we could do something,” I said. “We don't need to light all those candles, but I could perhaps make a wish and blow out one.”

“And would you wish for me to come again next year,” his grin at his mouth and the twinkle in his eyes began to grow,

“Well, I guess it does beat you having no reason to appear again.” I smiled as I went to find a candle. “I have some cookies and milk if you can stay.”

“Oh, Happy Birthday, and many more to come!” he boomed in his familiar style. “Yes, many, many more!”