It was fifty six

years ago when I first held

you, poet son, in my arms.

~

Shortly thereafter,

you read me a bedtime tale…

War and Peace, if I recall.

Nationalism

trumps pure Capitalism?

Would Adam Smith disagree?

~

For an update ask

 our Narcissist-In-Chief. He

espouses blending the two.

November trees with

their many colored leaves live

happily with differences.

~

And yet, on the ground,

those pretty leaves are engaged

in harsh chemical warfare.

Though it’s not very

 easy, some things can really

be worth waiting for.

~

Waiting’s easier

than all the uncertainty

about what we’re waiting for.

We watch and wait with

rising hope that we will soon

see the last of him.

~

Or we discover,

much to our shock and dismay,

that the fix was always in.

America proves

that folies à doux is sure

to become a household word.

~

Sanity can be 

restored if enough stand strong

and keep clear heads and warm hearts.

We can help create

 a new normal by voting

for reason and care.

~

And by extending

that care to those less than pleased,

normal can include healing.

This building fatigue,

growing, spreading sense of dread;

on what do we blame it all?

~

Let’s look for cause, not

blame, then set about finding

best possible remedies.

The full moon makes up

for the sun’s irregular

appearance these past few days.

~

Once in a blue moon

you find that you feel a need

for some moonlit surveillance.

Should we just dispense

with this “Trick or Treat” nonsense?

Haven’t we had our fill yet?

~

We should be pros now.

After 4 years of trick or

treat, we’ve had our fill.

Patience is so hard

to find especially when

there’s so little time.

~

Impatience only

benefits smarmy salesmen,

unless we shout, “Hell No!”

Leaves and grass battle

for the yard’s supremacy,

but the mower wins the day.

~

The land wins the day

with the mower’s shredding help

In battling leaves and grass.

The day might be gray,

but we can choose to focus

on the gold that’s also there.

~

Fire hues abound

both aground and amid trees,

defying the gray heavens.

Six years in the books!

May year seven mark the end

of our poetic protests!

~

It might be time for

poetic celebrations

instead. What say you?

There’s something about

rainy days and playful pups

that leave seniors in the dust.

~

Dig out your raincoat,

gather up your cane, and leash,

and walk that puppy to sleep.

Some will make the time,

planning early, how to vote.

We shall call them Patriots.

~

Some will not accept

a result they do not want.

We shall call them Trumpians.

Can there be any

debate about caged children

or kidnapping governors?

~

Everything is moot,

if there’s no basis in fact

upon which we can rely.

From inside this box,

the world is very scary,;

unpredictably open!

~

We seek protection

by living in boxes and

don’t see the danger within.

A puppy helps us

discover the delight that

can be found in a pinecone.

~

Pinecones are such fun

for the young and young at heart;

if we are allowed to play

Sometimes the mood strikes.

Other times it goes on strike.

Let’s just not strike the colors.

~

You triumphed over

every passing mood and wrote

anyway. That’s all that counts.

So many chances

to worry, so many times

to return home to the breath.

~

When returning home,

finding only empty fears,

tends to take one’s breath away.

I am exhausted!

Worn out by wearing the hats

and bridging the gaps all day!

~

A gap day or two

where you take off those hats and

simply rest is best.

 Knock, knock, who’s there? Knox.

Knox who? It’s the pits. No bull.

I need a home too.

~

Anyone can find

some old place to rest their head,

but that ain’t what makes a home.

Beyond any doubt,

what seems logical to some,

is irrational to me!

~

They say one man’s truth

is another man’s lie and

his meat another’s poison.

A creator’s joy –

to see what emerges is

far better than expected.

~

Looking at this piece…

that’s but one of many gems

we took from our creator!

Teak and old iron,

salvaged from deck box and chest,

becomes patio table.

~

Visionaries see

beyond what is and transform

what was into something new.