Photo Essay: Postcards Mailed to President Elect Joe Biden this Week.

 

Prose Poem: The Buddha's Top Hat.

 

I fell through my own mind,

to land on my feet like a cat.

Dusting myself off, I proceeded

to take action without thought.

Was it instinct or habit

that caused me to knock

the top hat off the elderly

man I met on the road?

Either way, he thanked me kindly

for my action --

and I realized he was Buddha.

Then I hid my face and wept.

But he was gentle with my 

immaturity,

saying: "The Original Sin

of our First Parents lay in

giving names to things --

for you can only desire what is named."

Later on at the shy lake 

I pondered anew the relation

between pure thought

and pure action.

I used the Buddha's top hat

as my thinking cap on the shores

of the coy pond -- 

to conclude that there was 

no conclusion. That I must be,

not think of being.

In quick order I:

blew my nose using my thumb

ate grass like Nebuchadnezzar

watched the sky remain blue

felt an ant crawling up my arm

observed the ice age

shook hands with myself

and let slip the banana peel of doubt.

Then was I at peace --

or so I thought until my lunch hour was up.

Back at the office I put on my mask,

sat at my desk,

and deleted emails.

Someone had left a half-eaten

 pepperoni pizza in my trash can.

Then I hid my face and laughed.

True at all times

 

Be true at all times and the Lord God will know

that your heart is solid and won't ring hollow.

Two faces are better than one only to

on black stringy crow double what you can chew!

They threw down their weapons of war

 

They threw down their weapons of war,

those ancient and straighforward men.

Commanded to kill their own kin,

their orders ignored there and then.

And so scripture shows us that hate

and organized murder will cease

with covenants kept in resolve

to honor the true Prince of Peace.

The Shaving Cream Factory

 

I was invited to tour the shaving cream factory

because of my uncle.

May he rest in peace.

Those shaving cream factory

explosions are more common

than you might think.

Before our group arrived at the factory

we met up with a crowd of refugees

from El Salvador and Nicaragua. 

They were held in a disorganized dusty camp

on the outskirts of town, where our

tour bus broke down.

The camp guards promised to fix

our bus; they invited us into the

compound for a shower and a hot meal.

But as we mingled with those unassuming refugees

we became more like them and they became

more like us, until there was no way

of telling us apart --

 so the guards refused to

let any of us out. They drove the tour bus

off a cliff.

Using a pencil, a windshield wiper blade, 

and a box of toothpicks, I eventually managed to 

dig a tunnel under the barbed wire --

which led straight down to a vast underground

kingdom of geode worshipers. 

We had no choice but to join them

in their unconventional religious ceremonies

until our paperwork went through.

The red tape took years, 

and by the time it arrived

I had married a local girl, and we 

were raising a family in the

geode faith.

 I myself eventually came to believe

in the power of geodes.

So I decided to stay.

Now I watch my family grow

like chalcedony crystals

from the Mendip Hills. 

 

Is it any wonder I love

the smell of shaving cream?

 

Invasion of the bowling balls

 

The invasion of the bowling balls

began on a quiet winter's evening

when the moon looked like the 

face of Dean Martin.

People were snug in their warm homes,

choking on unpopped kernels of corn

and buttering slices of frozen pizza.

In the tropics, the tanna leaves bloomed.

World leaders were caught unawares.

With their pants down and their dander up.

Parliaments and congresses blithely played

tiddlywinks with slush funds and easy aces.

Even Barney Greengrass closed for repairs.

I myself was involved in a minor contretemps

with a professor of English, via email,

concerning the Oxford comma;

Citing irreconcilable differences,

we had both filed as amicus curiae.

Looking back, it all seems so footling now.

Then it happened.

The invasion.

And overnight everything changed.

The grass was no longer greener on the other side.

Scrabble was banned in Boston.

Anyone talking about the cinema

when they meant the movies was lynched.

And the Yucatan Peninsula declared for 

Wilkes and Liberty.

At Christmas people hit each other

over the head with heavy reinforced 

boxes of Whitman's Sampler.

And clowns went color blind.

But then, at the eleventh hour,

a person on horseback arrived

to save us in our skins.

He rallied the troops.

She never said die.

They kept the home fires burning.

And we all set sail together

to question the universe

about reverse mortgages. 

Today's timericks

 

Stocking stuffers this year should

be face masks -- then knock on wood

that a microbe gives wide berth

to your chimney: Peace on Earth!

Santa, bring me a remote

that will mute each silly quote

by a pundit this next year

making economics clear!

Russian hackers on the job

faster than a good flash mob

milk our agencies like kine --

while the admin lays supine.

In my jammies Christmas morn

I feel like I am reborn --

checkered flannel, fleecy hood;

bunny slippers from childhood.

Fashionistas, be advised

this new style is canonized!

Work-life balance is to me

merely triviality.

Loafing has been all my study;

work is for the fuddy duddy!

Burnout ain't an issue when

you live in a big playpen.

Sing redeeming love

 

Sing redeeming love, my soul;

with heart and voice proclaim the whole

of creation His footstool --

and how He cares for me, a fool.

No earthly choir's anthem sweet

can with one note of Christ compete.

The knowledge of that which is just and is true

 

The knowledge of that which is just and is true

comes from the scriptures with constant review.

The spirit will guide us through chapter and line

to lead us correctly and show us a sign.

Prose Poem: The Big Guy's List

 

I work for the Big Guy.

You know; the one at the North Pole.

Naughty and nice, and all that jazz.

I've been undercover since last March,

making a list, double checking it.

Who's wearing a mask

and who ain't.

You think the Big Guy 

isn't concerned about the Pandemic?

You maybe think he's all ho-ho-ho

and jolly belly shaking, with no 

Weltanschauung?

Jeeze, if you're thinking that --

what can I say? You're a jamoke.

Here's how it's going down Christmas Eve:

There's been a hundred of us working undercover

for the past nine months -- we send in our lists

this week and the computer geeks compile

and extrapolate and all that jazz,

then hand the Big Guy the hard drive of the 

Winners and Losers

And, confidentially, the list of Losers

is awfully long. 

Mostly male.

Mostly Republican.

And mostly under the age of fifty.

Dumb-dumbs, to a man. 

Me, I really don't care about the schmoes

who don't get anything under the tree this year.

They're the same ones who don't believe in a 

vaccine either -- 

So they'll mostly be pushing up daisies

come next August.

I won't be crying any river over 'em.

The Big Guy already has us prepping

for next year's op --

Still guzzling fossil fuel 

with a Dodge Durango?

Naughty.

Driving a Tesla 3?

Nice. 

Get the picture?