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Beatitude

Wheat is in the granary, hay is in the shed,
Lengthening autumn nights find me cuddled up in bed,
Reading from the Good Book, and other good books too,
In peaceful contemplation, I find that my troubles are quite few.
Despite my wayward wanderings around this crazy sphere,
I find my troubles melt away about this time of year.
Cider ferments in the jug, a wonderful shade of yellow,
Mix it with whiskey in my glass and I’m a happy fellow.
Harvest bursts the larder and the barn is filled to the brim,
A turkey is in the oven and I’ve found a tree to trim.
Kids are singing carols and they echo through the home,
I’m already wistful for a visit from that jolly Christmas gnome.
The season is upon us, it’s a good time to be living,
So much happiness in my heart, bursting out in pure Thanksgiving,
Despite humble beginnings I find that I’m blessed beyond all expectation,
I find my life completely full with health and love and family and nation.
May this harvest festival find you equally enshrined,
With love and friends and family and blessings on your mind.

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Election Jazz: The Reds and the Blues

Who is to blame for the mess we are in?
Hatred, Strife, Economics, Spin.
Maybe we ourselves hold blame!
Closed-mindedness, zero-sum games.
Perhaps the issue should instead be,
“What does it take to set us free
From fear and doubt and dishonesty?”

Once again America Plebiscites-
In folksy language, we fuss and fight.
Back and forth the political tug-of-war,
No one really wins when everyone is sore.
For “election have consequences” still holds true-
Though political spoils of war make us raw and bruised,
And to our chagrin no election is ever through!

The loser gets ready for shifting political winds,
And the strategy for the next election already begins.
Though the winner seems happy, on closer inspection,
They are already fundraising for their re-election.
The electorate only has itself to blame,
Selecting the same old people for the same old game,
This outcome has become the object of shame.

With empty promises that we continue to buy,
Politicians are incentivized to lie.
We the people keep stuffing the box
For the candidate promising us the fattest ox
With voters on the take, bad fiscal policy begins
As democracy’s life approaches its ends
Didn’t we ramble, with the Saints Marching in?

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Tribes

Gate to Seoul

The World is full of tribes
Some come riding in on horseback with a sickle sword and a compound bow
Others sit in the halls of governance and plot the destruction of their foe at the ballot box
Some cluster in cloisters under the tallest of white steeples or golden domes
Still others fight as talking heads on syndicated airwaves
The tribe never leaves us- cannot leave us
We are the tribes, and we are many

The world is full of tribes
As the Arab proverb goes
“Me against my brother
Me and my brother against my cousin
These three against our village
Our village against the world”

The world is full of tribes
The concept brings us together as community
The concept tears us apart as outsiders
We do horrendous things to our fellow humans
In the name of our tribe
For the good of the tribe we make sacrifices
For the good of the tribe we sacrifice others

The world is full of tribes
They define us
They defile us
They mobilize us
They paralyze us
In the end all they are is us

Perhaps one day, when we sail the celestial seas,
We will see how small and weak the tribes are
And how strong the individual can be
Perhaps one day we will see the end of internecine tribal wars
Perhaps one day we will see that there is only one tribe
Humanity bleeding the same blood
In the same house
On the same cosmic ark
Hurling, spinning through the void

Until the Worlds are full of tribes

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In Praise of Coffee

Gate to Seoul

A gift from the Gods

Seeds not pods

Red Ethiopian berry

Stone fruit like a cherry

Maybe Yemen grown

Mountainside or Mocha port as home

Washed and dried then fire roasted

Tumbled round and perfectly toasted

Ground and boiled and placed in urn

Or percolated so it doesn’t burn

Maybe Keurig, or maybe drip

Doesn’t matter, I’ll have a sip

Might be black or soft brown with cream

Almost better than a dream

Slightly sweetened to me is the best

But I don’t turn up my nose at the rest

In a porcelain cup warming my hand

It warms my soul as well, Oh Man!

A baser admission (I don’t mean to stoop)

Coffee also helps me poop

Brings new life to every day

A few moments of calm to sip and pray

Energizing, Antioxidizing,

A little too much and my blood pressure is rising

A warm cup of Java is hard to beat

Now my praise of coffee is complete

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Contemplation

Gate to Seoul

Thinking about thinking
I ponder the imponderable
What capacity has mankind for acts of inhumanity
What capacity has mankind for acts of human kindness
What capacity has mankind for evolving into greatness
And perhaps in the process changing the universe
If we can get past the Great Filter without destroying ourselves in the process
If we can get past tribalism and be who we are called by the universe to be
Thinking about thinking
I revel in the philosophy of Dunning and Kruger
And I worry about the Mount from which I sit and ponder