Art, Cultural Change, Culture, Dance, Drawings, Human Nature, Literature, Movies and Film, Music, Paintings, Performance Arts, Photography, Poetry, Quality of Life, Sculpture, Society, Theatre, Visual Arts, Writing

Will They Bring With Them the Poets?

SUMMARY: Reflections on the future of humanity.

(About a 7 minute read)

I read a post yesterday on Bojana’s blog that got me thinking about the future of humanity.  That’s a topic that is more or less always in the back of my mind, but which I seldom write about.

I seldom write about it largely because it’s such a complex topic that I’m not sure what can be said about it that might someday more or less pan out as true.  Bojana’s approach to the topic was a pretty sound one — she mulled over her observations of her toddler and his friends as they were playing together.  The future, of course, begins with how we raise our kids.

Continue reading “Will They Bring With Them the Poets?”

Abuse, Infatuation, Poetry

Why, I Wonder, Do You Think You Love Me?

I have wondered whether I could win
A contest with asphalt for your love.

If I told you I was allergic to your cats,
You’d take sides with your cats,
And not ask if I was at all discomforted.

You profess to love me with the abandon
Of a wild rose in the rain
But I have observed your love now
And found it yields quicker than a reed
In a hurricane to your self-image.

Whenever my life with you has forced you to choose
Between me and who you think you are,
You have chosen who you think you are.

I wonder now if you have ever loved anyone
And why you think you love me?

Humor, Love, Miscellaneous, Poetry


I adore you, Toots.
Your breasts are lovely,
So’s your butt.
What more do you want
Me to admit?

I’m dark and handsome,
Strong and rich.
If I didn’t love you,
I’d be with someone else, right?

What’s all this
About needing romance?

Is that some kind of criticism?

I thought I gave you some romance
Last May, a box of chocolates.
Don’t tell me they’re all gone.
This is only September!

You’re leaving me? Really?
What for? I said I love you.

Fine! Try to do better!
Just try.

You’ll be back.

Good men are hard to find.


If She Were Not…

If she were not as kind as strawberries,
If she were not as witty as ice cream,
If she were not as smart as lightening,
If she were not as generous as soap,
If she were not as considerate as sunlight,
If she were not as thoughtful as old shoes,
If she were not as pleasant as lavender,
If she were not as gracious as a deer,
If she were not as strong as oak,
If she were not as merciful as a chair,
If she were not as energetic as a squirrel,
If she were not as wise as a raven,
If she were not as curious as a fox.
If she were not as mischievous as the moon,
If she were not as elegant as a falcon,
If she were not as benevolent as a wolf
If she were not as fun as an orange,
If she were not as beautiful as a loon’s song,
If she were not all those things,
I would never have been able to bring myself
To forgive her for her sin of mentioning
(In passing)
That we humans were evolving
Towards a “higher consciousness”.


This poem is an attempt at a comical reflection on my nearly quixotic distaste for the term “higher consciousness”, which I have explained here.

Abuse, Jennifer, Love, People, Poetry, Sexual Abuse

A Letter to Find in the Morning

(About a 2 minute read)

“Strange someone would do that to a child.”
It sounds lame to say it, Jennifer,
But that doesn’t make the strangeness go away,
The feeling that something alien, terribly alien,
Once happened to you on that lonely ranch
Near Grand Junction.

You’re restless in your sleep tonight.
Your head tosses this way, then that way.
I worry that when you whisper
Something I can’t quite make out,
You dream of the year of your foster father,
His brother and their cousin.

The moonlight on your face
Makes you look ghostly, those are ghosts
You wrestle with tonight,
Ghosts you’ll always have.

But at least they’re ghosts now.
They once were demons.

I can wish that year had never happened
But it did happen.
I can wish you could forget it had happened.
But how could anyone forget that?
I could wish
I could wish
And I could wish,

But what can I do?

There are healers. You’ve been to them.
You’re healed now — as functional as anyone.
Only the dreams still come at night,
The memories return by day,
The scars still show
In both your beliefs and your actions.

But what can I do?

I try to understand what’s too alien
To understand, what can never be understood.

I accept your scars, your ghosts,
I don’t tell you to “get beyond it”.

But nothing feels like I’m doing anything.

I slip out of bed,
Hoping that doesn’t make things worse
For you in your sleep.

On your desk by the window
I find a pad and your pen,
Write you a love letter to find
In the morning.

Inspired by a poem on Paeansunplugged’s blog that can be found here.

Abuse, Belief, Community, Cultural Traits, Culture, Ethics, Free Spirit, Hate, Human Nature, Late Night Thoughts, Life, Living, Logic, Love, Morality, Morals, Mysticism, News and Current Events, Observation, Oppression, Passion, Poetry, Reason, Self-Knowledge, Skeptical Thinking, Spirituality, Thinking, Truth, Unconditional Love

Late Night Thoughts: Belief, Love, Mysticism, Blaming, and More (September 4, 2018)

(About a 7 minute read)

Almost immediately following World War II, and American firm was hired to poll the Japanese public on several issues, mostly — as I recall now — regarding the occupation and new constitution.  It was the first time the Japanese public had ever been polled.

The firm soon discovered an unexpected problem.  The Japanese people didn’t know how to answer questions about what they personally believed.

Continue reading “Late Night Thoughts: Belief, Love, Mysticism, Blaming, and More (September 4, 2018)”

Danielle, Love, Miscellaneous, People, Poetry, Sex, Sexuality

She Wore a Top Hat and Little Else

(About a 3 minute read)

“Whip it out”, she said.
“No, your wallet”, she said.
“This is a coffee shop, Paul,
Not a brothel.”

“Of course I knew what you meant.
I’m not dumb, Danielle.” I said,
Trying to cover up my mistake. “I was um…
Performing a little street theater, you see.”

“Emphasis on ‘little’, Paul.”

I decided it was time to change the subject.
“What’s your favorite funeral home joke’,
I hastily asked, batting my lashes fetchingly.

“Thinking of retiring, Paul? That’s something
The whole shop could get behind,
An old man like you.”

“Ok, I owe you one. It was an innocent mistake
Anyone could make, but I owe you one.”

“You can take me to a strip club Thursday at six.”


“You can take me to a strip club Thursday at six.”


“Or I tell everyone.”

Thursday at six rolled around like an appointment
With a bloodthirsty Mafia boss
That I wasn’t hankering to meet.

Danielle showed up dressed causally
But conservatively, in sheer lace lingerie,
A top hat, with a cane:
Conservatively for the clubs, that is.

“I want to blend in”, she explained.

“Good thinking”, I said, “No one will notice you.
Me, I’ll just be drinking heavily,
Pretending I don’t see you either.”

She got in free, no cover charge.
I had to pay 15 standard fee,
Plus $200 deposit because the overly-muscled
Idiot guarding the door remembered me
From the night I got drunk and some dancer’s
G-string inexplicably got stuck in my teeth.

The first act was pathetic, a newbie
Who pandered to the crowd by pretending
To juggle carrots in the nude
While walking around the stage
Chanting “Cha-cha Cha-cha”.

The second act wasn’t much better.
A slender blonde laid on her side,
Repeatedly raising and dropping her leg
While looking a mix between angry
And infinitely bored.

“This is what it’s all about?
This is what turns you men on?
You want I should juggle carrots for you?”

“Hardly”, I said, “Maybe it’ll get better.”
But I didn’t believe it would.
Time to take myself up on my offer
To start drinking heavily.

But then some natural born artist
Took the stage and danced her sexuality.
The two who followed were the same.

On the drive back, I asked
What she thought of it all.


When we got to my place
She abruptly unzipped me
With not so much as a “by your leave”,
But with a dexterous wack of her cane.

“That could have gone very wrong.”

“Yes”, She agreed. “But there’s not much
Down there it could have hit.”

Our eyes danced for each other,
Found what they were looking for,
Then rested briefly eye to eye.
We plunged for the bed simultaneously
Laughing like kids on Christmas morning.
The bed bounced us into each other’s arms.

“Could you take the g-string out of your teeth.”

“It cost me two hundred.” I said.
“And there’s still plenty of chew in it yet.
I’m not ready to lose it just yet.”