DAY SIX – THIS REALLY GOT MY GOAT

I stopped for a quick taco

One wicked, frigid night.

I sat in my car to eat it,

Heater on,  snug and tight.

I stared off into space,

Not thinking ’bout very much

Until my eyes focused

On a sight that made me clutch.

There was a man

Across the parking lot,

Kneeling on the ice,

Hammering at a single spot.

He wore only a hoodie,

No gloves, no hat, no coat.

It really made such little sense;

Where was his winter coat?

I sat there watching while I ate,

My muscles getting tense.

And as I sat there wondering,

I began to take offense.

This man, this freezing person,

Had been sent to chip the ice

Off a front parking spot, with a hammer –

a Hammer!… to chip the ice!

He was unaware I was watching.

He just did what he’d been told.

I figured his manager was a dick,

To send him coatless into the cold.

I did not say a word to him.

He never looked toward my car.

I started it up, and drove away,

just down the street,  not  far.

I went into King Soopers,

Bought Ice Melt and  winter gloves,

Then drove back to the fast food place

Everyone knows and loves.

I pulled up very near him,

Hauled out the bag of Melt,

Then handed him the gloves,

Unsure just how he felt.

He took them, and he turned his back

As he pulled them on his hands.

I saw his shoulders shake before he turned again,

Opening the bag, tearing off the bands.

I wish I’d had a heavy coat

To keep him warm and well.

I wish I’d stormed back in the shop

to give his manager hell.

Instead I headed off to home

With just a small, quick wave.

He waved back, then back to work.

It’s a good memory to save.

***

In this day of loud resistance, screaming protests, major demonstrations, it is easy to think you have to do something big to make a difference.  Sometimes, though,  one person can do the most for another by just being aware they are there.

Life can be hard…look for ways to soften it, eh?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

DAY FIVE — BEFORE WORK

At age sixty six

Employment still defines me.

Weekends ever rock!

4/5/18

DAY FOUR – ANNA OOPS

Anna visited with her Pop and Mom when she was almost two.

She wobbled around and chattered  away just like R2-D2.

Early one morning after she settled in,

She warbled she wanted Pfoops-pfoops.

“What?” we said, laughing out loud,

“Did you say that you like Poop-poops?”

She frowned, then shook her head and pointed her tiny finger,

“No no no!  PFOOP-PFOOPs! PFOOP-PFOOPs!”

We really could not get it, thinking she was making a big oops.

She sat down,  looked up at her Mom who calmly explained,

“She just wants her Fruit Loops.”

***

Anna is all grown up now.   I wonder if her darling daughters eat Poop-poops, too?

 

4/4/18

 

NAPOWRIMO DAY TWO 4/2/18

There lies the rub — how to pull the tale together.

The Triangle Shirtwaist Factory Fire

One hundred forty six people dead in fifteen minutes.

One hundred forty six,

Mostly young women

Some children and men.

Not all burned, some jumped, some smashed,

as people stood below and watched.

Lucifer knew…

 

to be continued

 

 

NAPOWRIMO 2018, DAY ONE (29 to go)

JOHN MAKES HIS DEAL

“The Devil,” thought John, “will ultimately lose.

I shall reach my goal,

then cleverly slip loose.”

Oh, John, thought Lord Lucifer,  you are not the first

to think you can beat me;

to avoid being cursed.

So it began, the battle to win

against all odds,

despite John’s great sin.

John signed it away, his life and his soul,

thinking he would take it back,

once he reached his greatest goal.

He believed that God would ultimately save him;

assuming that no matter what,

He could keep all his Heavenly Father gave him.

Of course, he was wrong, for God gave him his free will;

free will to choose which ever route

would help him top his hill.

God hoped He would be chosen to help John succeed;

that He would be the inspiring source

to which John would disclose his need.

But God knew with free will, another choice existed;

another choice to help John win,

though that win would end up twisted.

It is not that God stops loving you, when you to Satan turn.

It is only that because He loves,

You have the choice to burn.

So, to the story of John Phillips, already on his way

To winning the ultimate top writing prize,

His soul bargained away.

 

04/01/18  The beginning…

rJoHerman

 

 

 

EASTER MORNING, 2018

Well, the Lord has risen, but the sun has not…looks like it might snow, but it’s still nice…Emil Catt ran out to drink his morning water from the bowl on the back stoop, and a fat Mama Robin has been twittering wildly at him…
Am boiling some eggs for Easter breaky, put in some food coloring for effect. I would have done it last night, then hid them for myself to find, but I would have forgotten where I hid them, so it’s safer this way. Interestingly, I used a Tilton Forest Green, which colored the water green, but the eggs are pink…hmmm…can’t wait to see what color yolks I’ll find. I actually do like green eggs and bacon, if they’re Tilton Forest Green.
Am reading a great book, OUT OF LINE, A Life of Playing with Fire by Barbara Lynch, that reminds me of all you brothers, and cousins and friends from back east (who made up that term, “back east?” “out west,” “up narth”)  It’s a memoir by Barbara Lynch, world famous, award winning chef, from South Boston. She tells of growing up in Southie, with her tough Irish mother and too many kids, “Uncle Charlie” Whitey Bulgur, who’s Ma lived in the house on the corner next to Barbara’s friend, Jane (I bet she says her name, Bahbra). It’s hilarious to read this stuff, because I’m thinking a lot of what the Southies say is similar to what the Townies say, some of which I remember hearing Dad, and Uncles Bill, Dickie, and Aunts Amy, Martha, Pat, Natalie, and Ma Herman saying… Love New England accents…and it’s always funny when I’ve been out to visit, that people think I have an accent – Mom practically beat accents out of me…when we lived in New Mexico, and I’d say walkin’, or comin’, she’d say “There is a G on the end of that word, try it again.” When, after visiting back east, I’d say Idear (“there is no R on that word”) or Aunt Mahtha (which I thought was her name), Mom would say “there’s an R in her name, try it again”- Mar-tha HAAAA…
Oil Well, c’est la vie…
Time to peel the pink eggs for my Easter repast…oh, and look! the sun is coming out full force.
PRAISE THE LORD ON THIS GLORIOUS MORNING!
 
AND THE PEOPLE SAID, “AMEN!”

Anita Shreve

Anita Shreve has died

She died yesterday, they say.

Her book, The Weight of Water,

brought the murder on the Isles of Shoals

to living, sweating, breathing life.

Her other books, did much the same.

The Pilot’s Wife, from the very beginning,

grabbed your gut, doubling you over just as in the book,

betrayal, conspiracy.

***

I wish you a good journey to the heavens, Madame,

where your work soars, and to where the hearts of all you touched

with your talent and words lift in thanks for your existence.

You are cured of your cancer, now.   You are free of the pain,

and we shall hold you in highest esteem.

Thank God for you!

 

RILKE AM MORGEN

“Poems from the Book of Hours” exposes Rilke’s soul; his mind, his heart,

all while he declares that should You,  God, remove all his parts,

his eyes, his ears, his feet, his arms, his heart, his mind,

still his blood shall embrace Thee; shall carry Thee to the world.

How is it he has such surety when he later asks,

“Was wirst du tun, Gott, wenn ich sterbe?

…nach mir has du kein Haus, darin dich Worte, nah und warm, begruessen…”

What WILL You do? Where will you live, God, when I die?

***

His questions, and his prayers lead NOT to despair,

but only to the confidence that reasons escape us due to our limited abilities,

which can be stretched, strengthened, expanded until finally all will be clear.

***

Lord, God, this Holy Season, fill our hearts and minds and souls with joy and knowledge,

that though there be powers beyond our understanding, You are there to guide us to All

Good.

~Selah~

`

 

 

 

READY… SET…

It is almost time for the fun to appear

April month brings so much to cheer

Tulips stretch, crocus bloom

Iris yawn, reach to the moon

Apple, and cherry, and plums  bud

Rose knees swell, roots in the mud

And amidst it all, our racing hearts

on April first National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo) starts!

WOO HOO!

 

 

 

 

CAROL & GARY ON THE ROAD

Carol and Gary went a travelin’

Just when their careers were unravelin’

Now they’ve been at it for two full years

Seein’ all the sights way far and  real near

RVing the highways, smooth and gravelin’

 

3/26/18  rJoHerman