VINTAGE

Still Life ~Robert Williams

Now

a time with little of it left

I gather gently to my breast

all my life crammed into ​​given space

not to sort as pictures in a box

into tidy stacks by time and place

but as Harvest do they come

their ​random ​fruits to trace

remembrances to keep

what I sowed, what I reaped

how and whom I loved

when and where

what was given me to bear

what was taken, what received

of all I once too easily believed--

A maze it seemed I thought I knew

in all directions I could choose​​

​ ​but was a labyrinth I wandered through

​along its ​unicursal ​way of hope and fear

leading to the center

now and here

​​I reminiscence with gratitude, in joy, in pain

at times mythologizing all that’s been

or seeing clearly parts I played

in life’s grand drama

self and heaven made

BROTHERS

Brothers in spirit
in the Judean desert
under the Bodhi tree
left us simple lessons

We pick and choose
which ones to ignore

because they are hard to live
because we fear the other
because we shun the least of our brothers
because we judge harshly
because we forget why we came
               to this vale of tears
because we live on the horizontal

"spirits in a material world"
because we ignore the vertical
reaching to eternity

We--captives--see only a "Castle of Wonders"

Look to the point where the two directions cross
                    The middle way

We do not guess
that the blood of one brother
transubstantiated the earth into sacred ground
“Put off thy shoes from thy feet”
that the elder brother touched the ground

revealed the Path of Dharma

Both bore witness
Both taught the way
to distill dross into gold

The lotus has eight petals
The lotus has a thousand petals

THEN

We are born

a storybook unfolds

silent memory

song without words

morning glory

light and color

spirits of place and time

See!

a house on a hill

street of cobblestone 

the gate is green

blue the hydrangeas 

cherry blossom snowflakes

And we children

lying on cool grass 

under summer skies

wispy sky angels 

passing around the world

and back again

And we 

waiting for starlight, star bright

Come in now

it's getting late!

POSERS AND POSTERS

             Marines under fire in Arizona territory, Vietnam 1970 

I have been wondering for a while why it is that some people feel the need to pose and post pictures on social media of themselves dressed in camo gear and holding a weapon.

The photo above of a Marine unit under fire was taken by my husband, then a 21 year-old USMC infantryman and Combat Artist in Vietnam. Later, he learned that some of the men had been blown away. When we came across it recently, we wondered if other veterans had the same questions as he and I have had: 

What do these posers and posters represent? What are their motivations for the display? What is being expressed about their values and intentions? Do they truly wish to identify themselves with that image? Do they think twice about any of it, or even once? 

I would guess some of the posters are not even aware of their motivations, which could be any/or all of the following: mindlessness, boredom, machismo, a current trend thing, a political statement, or twisted form of patriotism? In my humble opinion, at the most obvious (and ludicrous) level, these posers are saying: 

Hi, I like to dress up and pose with weapons because:

a. I am patriotic (especially if I am near a flag).
b. I can defend myself against wild animals
c. I'd like to be a vigilante.
d. I just think it's cool to appear armed and dangerous.
e. I support the 2nd amendment but couldn't find a musket or flinlock pistol (the only firearms available when it was passed).

And for some Christian posers and posters, who somehow are in the mix of this frenzy with perceived persecution of religious rights, shouldn't they consider that once popular question: "What would  Jesus (most likely) do? Oh, wait...here is what some would like to think he would have done if he had a weapon.

Prince of Peace

  The 2000 year old man?

So, some have seen fit to second-guess "God's plan" to send his son to "die for our sins," wishing (or weirdly imagining) how it should or could have turned out differently (i.e., Christ having killed his accusers). They are eager and happily arrogant to twist the message of sacrifice, love and forgiveness taught by their supposed "lord and savior" into the distorted message of malice, revenge and violence--none other than the disorganized "faux religion" of their present-day perceived messiah: the MAGA maniac! GOP Jesus

Now, certainly, not everyone posing and posting falls into this category of complete idiot, as the above images and ideas suggest. However, for those who may not have thought through their motivations for posting "glam shots" of themselves with weapons of mass destruction, I suggest:

1.  Next time you are enjoying target practice, aiming at bottles, cans or small animals in your back yard, or just whiling away the hours fiddling with your weapon, take a moment to let it sink in: 

Your “toy” of choice and camo gear are also the go-to choices of those seeking the thrill of blowing apart school children, church worshipers, parade goers, and "others" perceived as deserving a fate of having their blood, organs and body parts exploding across ceiling, walls and floor.

2. Sign up for military service, where dress is NOT a costume and weapons are NOT for appearances, a hobby or leisure entertainment. 

At least, then you will have done something real and truly patriotic to insure all Americans continue to enjoy the freedoms for which so many have fought...

Even to do dumb things!

WHITSUN

You couldn't see

didn't know

how a sliver of ocean

an imposible blue gem

touched the sky

white light at the horizon

at sunrise

this morning

and the birds ~ all the while

singing it in 

OTHER

We come to earth--
this “tavern where drunkards get sober”
to ask questions, cast shadows
cry in the wilderness, sound a call
shed a light

Free will, Fortune, Fate
weave through our comings and goings
until everyone will have been everyone else
other lives, other loves, other loss

Other Other Other

Who will be our other?
our mother, our lover, our children, our friend
our nemesis—our judge and jury

We--All
are others
refugees
no one our savior

Coming into being and dissolving
again and again

Constellations of "anonymous stars"
moving across the heavens

Note: "tavern where drunkards get sober" and "anonymous stars..."

were inspired by Coleman Barks' translations from Rumi in Say I Am You.

IT'S LIKE THIS

 

It's like this

vast
sun streaks across the meadow
cool breeze at the window
morning again

This day
alone against an open sky
a dream of blue
and golden light
stretching to a hidden horizon

It's always like this

METAPSYCHOLOGY ONLINE Book Reviews 2020

Full Title: Animal Wife
Author:     Lara Ehrlich
Publisher: Red Hen Press 2020

Animal Wife’s fifteen stories take place in worlds of fantasy, mystery, chance, contradictions and danger—a world where, “happiness has sharp edges.” Women of various ages and stages, from childhood to adulthood, experience the real and the idyllic inherent in the “feminine mystique,” and in life itself. They navigate through innocence, sexuality, uncertainty, expectations of others, as well as their own fears, memories and desires. Readers are delightfully and inevitably drawn in to their own navigation of the blurred lines between fantasy and its underlying realities.

These captivating tales involve women longing, though not always for a clearly defined “something”; often they have no desire for the things others tell them they should want or have. They strive or drift toward identity, fulfillment, and varied forms of escape with surprising inner and outer transformations, sometimes frightening, sometimes wished for and self-fulfilling.

There is the enigmatic fate of one whose swan sisters warn her that, “no good can come of longing,” yet her longing draws her to a man who, “hides her feathers.” A young girl’s friends tell her, “It doesn’t matter if you like a boy or not; it only matters if he likes you.” One young girl concentrates so hard on appearing pleasant, she forgets to breathe.” A wannabe deer woman, “needs a change she can’t come back from.” One drinks the cotton candy-flavored "Foresight," delivered in an Amazon box, but ultimately rejects all the “possible futures” presented to her, “preferring the unknown.”

In a recent interview with Joel Brown of Bostonia (Boston University’s alumni magazine), author Ehrlich speaks of her interest in, “capturing a sense of fuzziness between reality and fantasy. I want to give the readers room to interpret the reality or unreality of a situation—but there’s a fine line between intentional uncertainty and unintentional confusion …. I’ve intended them to question reality.”

We are reminded of the wide-spread appeal of imaginative works, such as Ovid’s Metamorphosis, Grimm’s Fairy Tales, and those of more contemporary authors, such as Italo Calvino and Elizabeth Allende. Not only has this genre of literature been read and enjoyed through time, it has forever been retold and drawn upon in art, drama, film and television. It also has long been explored and analyzed by scholars (Joseph Campbell), and psychologists (Jung and Bettelheim) for its dream-like magic with meaning.

There is this kind of appeal for readers in the highly recommended Animal Wife, Red Hen Press’s Fiction Award winner, with its fresh take on the mythopoeic in relation to women’s lives. It is engaging at every turn of the page for its innovative approach. Ehrlich weaves compelling characters and situations, gripping images and language in her deft storytelling.

*********

Full Title:  The Essential Doug Holder: New & Selected Works
Author:     Doug Holder
Publisher: Big Table Publishing 2020Y

Doug Holder, founder of the Ibbetson Street Press of Somerville, MA, is a well-known and well-loved figure on the New England literary landscape. His recent publication: The Essential Doug Holder: New & Selected Works begins with a long introduction (not penned by him). Save this commentary for later, and go directly to the poems, which speak for themselves. And they have much to say, having urban appeal, specifically for Somerville, Boston and New York City, as well as broader and deeper universal appeal, expressed in Holder’s journalistic-like exposure of the essential humor, irony and pathos of the human condition.

The range of content is vast, presenting Holder’s new work and selected, previously-published pieces—offering a comprehensive and representative collection. A few examples of Holder’s singular style of stating, without rating, an experience will serve to convey the reader’s feeling of being transported directly into his subject without need for multiple literary devices. It’s as if Holder is not interested in artfulness (not that there’s anything wrong with that), so much as revealing what exists in and of itself, leaving interpretation and a sense of emotional dimension to be found in the tangible, palpable evidence of the five senses—in subways, ballparks, cafes, hospitals, delis, and in human relationships—the humor, compassion and reality of it all.

“Cambridge, MA: Two Old Women”
Two old women walk down my street each morning
A daily ritual of decrepit defiance
the ground that will own them.

“Au Bon Pain at Dusk”
You sit at a table in the courtyard of the cafe
brittle autumnal leaves rest
then tumble off your round shoulders.

They just don’t hold what they used to

“When Father Dies”
When Father dies
let it be on the rush hour train home
his face buried in The Post
his last breath involved with the world

“Dreaming on the Senior Line at Market Basket”
I walk with Ginsberg and Whitman
and we will talk.
I will tell them about the predicament we are in.

It feels like Holder inhabits his work, speaking from a “fly on the wall” perspective, keenly observing people, places and things, but not necessarily commenting on their meaning. Yet the message comes through with clarity and impact. His poet’s eye roams and records his observations of “ordinary” life, which of course, is never ordinary. In the tradition of all true poets, he gives them, “a local habitation and a name.”

If you like poetry served up homestyle, deliciously fresh and familiar, The Essential Doug Holder will satisfy, and resonate a long time after you put it down. If keeping a book of poems at your bedside is not something you see yourself doing, try this collection. As the book’s back cover suggests, “This is a must-keep-on your nightstand.” You might be surprised that you will pick it up, again and again.

SIMPLES

Of myself I write

What else do I know

less and less the further I do go

falling fast away--the past

and fading round on round

save memory of love and loss abound

The dances of my spirit life

in soul light sublime

merge here in this simple rhyme

Devoid of weighty verse

writ to exalted height

no alchemy of words can shed a light

Not in paper

will the gold of life be bound

but in heart’s penetralium will be found 

and

 in thoughts and words and deeds 

passed on to friend along the way

as well as foe, I pray

So here, these simple lines

are witness (and a prayer)

that what I’ve wrought and written

(not for fame) is made of air

When I lie beneath a sycamore--

 its tortuous branches--beauteous 

luminous--bare

against the sky

will speak for me 

the “why”

EARTH'S CLOAK - A Villanelle

Of sun rays golden, moonlight’s silver beam

From airy, fine and fragile threads we weave

On loom of soul a tapestry unseen

 

We, in this vale of tears live by their gleam

A mystery in fabric light and dark

Of sun rays golden, moonlight’s silver beam 

We strive throughout our lives to grasp the theme

Of human history through the march of years

On loom of soul a tapestry unseen

No certainty we braid into the scene  

But flowing, shifting like the changing sea

Of sun rays golden, moonlight’s silver beam 

All beauteous forms and grotesque we must glean

Entwine in warp and weft through space and time

On loom of soul a tapestry unseen

We weave earth’s cloak in threads of lustrous sheen

Of dawn and darkly ebbing shades of dusk 

Of sun rays golden, moonlight’s silver beam

On loom of soul a tapestry unseen