The Poetry Marathon

There is a man who fishes all morning

and feeds the birds all afternoon.

He is always surrounded by pelicans,

gulls, even great blue heron, and the

occasional wood stork flock to him for food.

Up at Mirror Lake, the egrets and ibis compete

with the ducks and moorhens for morsels from

office workers on their lunch hours and teenagers

playing hooky from school. Homeless people, too,

are generous with the shore birds and the geese.

One man who admits he gets only one meal a day

still shares what he has with a roseate spoonbill

who has somehow flown in from Fort DeSoto or

Lassing Park. “See,” he says. “This is God’s own

beauty, right here. An Audubon painting, eating

out of my hand.”

Omega Institute, 1987

So many souls in transition

Ram Dass tried to keep us grounded

by leading guided meditations each evening

reminding us that we were there to be of

service to others, sore and needing.

Some were living in tents, others had dorm

rooms, all had troubling events we were

trying to leave behind. One woman in

particular, muttering to herself all the time,

when we were doing self-introductions, said

“I’m Janet from another planet,” and we all

knew it was true. We were there, too, whatever

spaceship she was on, we had come along

for the ride, just for the summer. Like Ram

Dass said, we were all just walking each other home.

We sit across from each other

your eyes never leave my face

looking for the mystery to be unlocked

why are we here, what is this place?

I cannot help your confusion

though I understand it better than most

we have been here before, you know

for birthdays, for eggs and toast.

We will keep returning, time after time

even though you no longer know my name

the familiar tablecloth, the glassware is the same.

The old legend, the myth

of Arthur’s Knights, had

it somewhat wrong, it seems.

Yes, Lancelot was in love

with the queen, but Lance

was not a he, but a she.

And Guinevere knew

and loved her anyway

because even in those days,

,two ladies together

was hotter than hot.

The best citrus
grows on the trees
that still grace
Marjorie’s old place
at Cross Creek.

In the evening
you can stand
on the bridge
and hear frogs
by the dozen.

Daytime, visit
the garden and see
chickens and mallards
among the tomatoes.

But to fill winter jars
with delectable orange,
grapefruit, and kumquat
delight, you must lock your
elbows, grasp the long poles,
and pull with all your might.

Most were not ready, in the fall of 2016,

when suddenly all the rules were changed.

Before that, we assumed, reasonably, that

men would continue to walk upright, and

not grab women just because they felt an urge.

We thought the time had passed that white people,

even in uniform, could just haul off and hurt or kill

a person of color.  That is no kind of valor.

Didn’t we fight for a civil society, for civil rights?

We might start dropping nuclear bombs again

if we haven’t learned anything from the Nazi fight.

In case it needs to be said: the rules of a civilization

depend on civilized behavior, not mob mentality

or military might. Get it right, Mr. President. You won

by hook or crook. Now give our country back. Act

like a statesman, not a moronic country hack.

I’m in the tub,

where every night

you sit and read,

turning the corners down

on the pages you like.

It’s been almost a year

since you banned me

from your life.  i know

your symptoms and

can never, ever tell.

You would damn me

to hell and outer Mongolia

if i tried again to get you to

ask your doctor about the

pill they give sometimes.

You know the one I mean.

It could have given us

a little more time. I really

liked living here, making you

French toast and bacon.

Now I only visit

when you’re gone.

Quite a week it’s been,

wars and rumors of wars;

lying, sniveling politicians.

Like my mother used to say

I want to shake them until

their eye-teeth rattle.

Quite a week it’s been.

Heart monitors, EKGs,

ultrasounds. I want to

take off all my clothes

and eat macadamia nuts

off your belly.

Quite a week it’s been,

I wasn’t feeling so keen

until Katy came along,

bright-eyed presence,

and reminded me to have

reverence for the violin.