Haiku–Memorial Day

Old rich men sending
young people to die in war.
It’s always been so.

To preserve freedom
Americans pay the price:
illusion foisted.

Honor the people
who fight and die forever,
not the politics.

memday

(imgyi.com)

Posted in Haiku, Poem, veterans, War | Tagged , , , | 5 Comments

Haiku–Liquid Gas

Fishing is a joy;
knee-deep in so much liquid.
What a total gas!

trout fishing

trout beaver

(top: trout-fly-fishing.com; the beav: riversbendflyfishing.com)

Posted in Fishing, Joy, Oregon | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

Squeezed Grey

I lob my own entrails
without consequence or accountability,
as if they are profound,
as if they aren’t useless,
as if they are art.

Squandering breath has become
a hobby and a habit.
Each breath measures part
of a poem that will never be born.
Is it birth control or abortion?

Impatience fosters itself.
If I am part of the Buddha’s river,
I am part of balancing the flow,
I am where white meets black,
I am the grey intersection of absolutes.

grey swirl

grey buddha

(top: ianfitter.com; Buddha: balihand.com)

Posted in Absolutes, Art, Poetry, Writing | Tagged , , , , , | 1 Comment

Haiku–Brussels Sprouts

Brussels sprouts heaven:
Roasted with garlic and salt.
Somewhere, a frog barks.

brussel-sprouts-bacon

Brussels-Sprouts

(top: whatwereeating.com; bottom: foodnetwork.com)

Posted in cooking, humor, roasting | Tagged , , , , | 8 Comments

Haiku–Reading Tea Loves

Tea sips hot and sweet.
Savoring closes my eyes.
The Asian black loves.

tea sip

tea grove

(top: webmd.com; bottom: filipek.genfolio.com)

Posted in Haiku, Morning, Poem, Tea | Tagged , , , | 4 Comments

Mother Ship

I float, not breathing—
too early for that.
I roll around against
this and that warm bulkhead.
I hear what I will later call
the ocean, who will bring back
these memories of sea, woman, ship.
The Mother comforts
the mother I am in.
I hear Her voice and
will never be the same.

sperm contact

fetus

Posted in Consciousness, Humans | Tagged , , , | 5 Comments

Education, Training and the Middle Class

narble:

My buddy John could be a roofer. In this post, he hits several nail square on the head. ~jrs

Originally posted on azuldelmar2kr:

Americans don’t resent the wealthy, nor do people around the world. Most know they will never be rich.  They don’t care. What they do expect is to have economic hope, a sense that they will be free from fear of economic insecurity.

There is flexibility in defining hope and expectation, which are different around the world. Some want more, expect more, and are fortunate enough to get it. There is, however, no flexibility in hopelessness.  Americans expect, or used to, that hard work would provide freedom from economic fear. They knew that being an American meant there was opportunity for the willing worker.  Americans do not expect hopeless economic conditions. That’s part of being American. They expect that the government understands its role to provide the structure, both economic and cultural, under which they retain the rights granted by God, to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness.  And that…

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Haiku–Polaris on Deck

Awake: cannot sleep.
The deck beckons; I am rapt.
Hello, Polaris.

polaris-north-star

polaris_pointers_Big_Dipper

Posted in Haiku, Poem, Slice of Life | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

Haiku–Rain’s Kiss

Wet snap rolling through;
my hat loosens but stays on.
The rain kisses me.

Rain

puddle-jumping

(top: katu.com; happy feet: blogs.reed.edu)

Posted in Haiku, Oregon, Poem, Uncategorized | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

Ballpoint Chisel (for Sharon Olds)

Long ago I shook your hand
and told you how much
I love your work.
I wanted to tell you
what little I know about women
has come from my wife
and your carefully erected words.
I wanted to tell you how many
life lessons I’ve found illuminated there,
but someone pressed from behind
and, as you signed,
the fleeting moment flew.
The sheer emotional key of it
makes me grateful for that spark.
I wanted to be master of my native tongue,
runed into the page with my ballpoint chisel.
Your smile implicitly offered permission
to be what I already am.

Sharon_Olds_Hi-Res1

tools

(Ms. Olds: sharonolds.net; tools: blog.adennichols.com)

Posted in Poem, Slice of Life, women, Writing | Tagged , , , , , | 6 Comments