Daily Blues & Views

I saw her by chance      after 30 years the SoCal dream glinting in their eyes, the perspective of the photo had the best interpretation      the best reminder two palm trees growing      out of their heads  

April 2018 Ashland, Oregon On this warm, windy Spring day I wondered a mile or so from the downtown section of Ashland, Oregon and found myself on the campus of Southern Oregon University. Finding the Student Union was simple and here I sit with a fresh cup of coffee in a space where I am easily, save one, the oldest person.  I found a bathroom, a bookstore, and an internet connection with little or no effort as well. I feel safe in this space even though I'm just passing through.  College campuses seem particularly interested in the concept of safe spaces these days and in the wake of a recent incident at Starbucks in Philadelphia some folks are unabashedly conscious of how they are being perceived by others and worry about whether to buy something or if it's even OK to wait for someone you are meeting if you don't seem busy and like you belong. Do we want a culture of coffee shops where it's acceptable to spend a few hours taking your time?  I think so.  Peop...

April is National Poetry Month Down a worn path, Years etch my moveable roots, Decades pinch the ripe, white, poison you call home. We have seated ourselves, Sipped the same deep-alley blues, Seen them take lives.

We're waiting for Spring.  Some signs have appeared, but they have been quickly erased by the rain and the cold winds.  As if we needed another reminder, the white blossom fall has added to the appearance of snowfall. But there are subtle signs.  The morning I opt for a lightweight shirt instead of a fleece or sweatshirt tells me I'm aware of the higher temperature that punctuates the days with promise. The clocks have been reset and the days catch as much light as they can.  But, again, when the rain comes it turns out lights and makes us want to curl up somewhere.  So, we do. And in a similar fashion, our lives evaporate with days becoming years and the changes just as subtle as the winter/spring two-step. The hair lightens from gray to white, the skin becomes even more supple, and the senses struggle with sound and vision.  There is joy in the mornings because we begin anew daily. With the subtlety comes release. We no longer care what ...

The day was darkening.  It was early April of 1968 and we still had no idea of what was to come in this fateful year.  I'd been in a three-hour poetry seminar that met weekly high up in UCLA's iconic Royce Hall. It was the end of a very long day that began driving through Beverly Glen Canyon as the sun was rising.  Now, hoping to get back home before the LA traffic worsened, I began the long uphill trek to my VW bug parked up the Sunset Blvd. hill near one of the mammoth dorms that overlooked the campus. Ordinarily, there were more people bustling about on the campus of 30,000+ students.  My hike back to the car seemed uncharacteristically silent and lonely.  Just as I approached the student path that ran beside the athletic field that is now a track stadium, I noticed one car speeding wildly down the accompanying road.  It stopped suddenly, two or three times in front of small groups of students and then in front of one person walking a...

Twilight brings the faint noise of a dog whose failing bark yields to night The silence shatters from within  I realize the days and miles have added up too many times The stepping stones become a blind crossroads I cannot follow I turn and enter the room where candlelight sketches my past and the moonlit faces of comely women, faded poems in hand I see the quiet street, the unpaved roads and the directionless signs Days became miles became days and miles became years Gone.

We're back in Watergate mode again.  All the cliches are blossoming on the surface of this dirty dishwater we call a Presidential administration.  Let's see, it's not the crime, it's the cover-up, what did he know, and when did he know it? don't forget about "midnight massacres" and the ever-popular "Constitutional crisis." So the Attorney General acting under orders fires the Deputy director of the FBI right before he's eligible for his pension.  After 20 years on the job, some "thank you for your service." Your service... your service, we hear this when people work for the government.  We hear it especially when they fight the government's wars.  It's become a sacred chant for most who serve their government.  But there are a few who serve and never get thanked.  They get explanations, accusations, and all too often, shown the door. What happens when government service takes another form?  Those young people, myself inc...