My Little Cube

Bjorn over at issued a challenge for writing a cube poem.  As a man of limited means, this is all I can do:




Hey, I thought, this is a walnut tree!
I saw the walnut -eh, balls, on the ground.
Too close to the house though.
I could see some had fallen on the roof.
I would like to have a walnut tree, I thought.
It’s wood is so beautiful.
The nuts so tasty.  Hard work though.
And I thought, that’s a cool tree.
Then it was inside to meet my new wife’s grandparents.
That was so many things ago.
Two college degrees ago.
Three kids ago.
Almost one career ago.
One almost great love ago.
But it never really was.
More of her thinking me an idiot.
It’s over.  But I still wish I had a walnut tree.

The Idiot and the Walnut Tree…..


Tender ears, hear the quiet.
Enjoy the sound of nothing.
Let it surround your heart and
soothe your soul.
Swim within its peace –
drown within it if you like –
and avoid the din of this hateful world.

Blackness take me,
void this life and memory –
Pray thee God, oh thou great,
my Lord, my Master,
my Tormentor –
Release my soul from this cocoon!
This cacophony of evil!

And I will repent forever more,
for whatever it is that brought me here.
Except that to suffer fools….
For those who suckle the witch’s breast,
should stay here forever –
In this Purgatory we call life….

Hedge Apple

A hedge apple laid on the road…
It’s green-ness contrasting the black tarry pitch.
It’s weight too great for the limb to hold,
stretched down, and down, and down –
until finally the weight was too great.
The hedge apple snapped –
Falling, falling to the ground.
And mother branch returned to her proud position.
Almost.  But not quite springing back to her glory.
Just a little bounce robbed from her gate –
her stance against the wind a little less worthy.
But there she stayed to shelter her little hedge apple.
To wait for him to find his own soily patch,
where he can root and grow and grow.
Another year, another stretching sag,
another little hedge apple fallen…
and on and on.
And now mother branch hangs so low,
misery and pain her only friends…
Waiting to snap off herself – to fall to
the ground and give fertilizer to what
should have been her children.
But they aren’t there.
Because we thought it was fun to smash them in the street.



Black darkness swallows whole my innards –
this life of flowers and bees and persimmon trees –
constantly adorned by bluest sky and puff puff clouds –
with rolling waters so cool and clear –
sighting God’s love far but yet near.

And we, those cast from heaven,
to walk the soil of years’ past shit.
To toil and grasp hands in filth,
to plant a seed of new life born.
And sprouting from this cesspool death,
is God’s beauty beyond the norm.
A green leaf pops up through,
and we attend our Sunday pew –
to give thanks for life come anew –
and sustenance which we can chew.

Oh God, oh God, your plan is clear –
that we be damned year by year –
sentenced to hunger and pain of life,
suffering intolerance and radical strife,
to bring a war – to bring the blood –
to kill a man for words lacking love.

Am I Cain or am I Able?
Living for love or for the sabre?
To which of these do I owe my fate
– being destined to walk upon this earth?
If Cain were sentenced here –
this life of toil and crime –
it would certainly make sense –
But why Dear God did Able come –
What was his offense?

If misery could be given a name,
I would call it Life.
As the only relief that I can find,
is my dearly beloved wife.

Thank you for the most wonderful thing I know.

White Cops and Black Robbers

God wants us to be happy.  And for the better part, most of us are happy most of the time.  At least those of us snuggled in our air conditioned homes with refrigerators are full of food – yeah, we are mostly happy.

When are we unhappy?  When our child gets lost in the mall and we are scared to death?  When a loved one passes away and we are in horrible mourning?  When we are in imminent danger of dying ourselves, like during a heart attack?  Or when someone has accosted or robbed us?  That’s when we usually call to God, in that moment of grief.  In other words, the only time God hears from most of us is when the shit hits the fan.

Cops are like that too.  They only get called upon when the shit is hitting the fan.  And when they respond they have no idea of what the situation is.  It could be a simple yelling match between a man and wife or an active shooter scene.  The police officer has no idea.  He has to assess the scene in a matter of mere seconds.  Which is why the police officer is given the authority to instruct people at scenes.  Disobeying the police officer is not just illegal, but it is a huge marker showing that the non-compliant person is probably going to become violent.  And when he shows signs of violence the use of force continuum goes into effect.

Most people do not know about the use of force continuum.  That is the practice that allows the officer to use one step higher force than the force an offender is using.  If an offender is acting belligerent then the officer may handcuff him.  If he resists being handcuffed and fights the officer, the officer may use non-lethal force such as pepper spray, baton, or Tasers to incapacitate the offender.  If the offender approaches an officer with a knife or other deadly weapon then the officer may resort to the highest level of force, deadly force.  That would include shooting the suspect until the threat has ceased.  Among other things.  Like choking or hitting ther offender in the head with a baton.  When deadly force is in play, and the officer is in fear of his own life or someone elses, he may use any force necessary to stop the threat.

Most of us go to our little cubicles or non-dangerous jobs everyday and don’t have to think about the things that police officers do.  They don’t go to homes like OJ Simpson’s to socialize and have hoighty-toity parties.  They go there because he just brutally murdered two people.  Police officers only see the worst of the worst of our society, and those who have never been an officer have no idea how incredibly terribly heinous these offenders are.

Here’s some stats:  According to the DOJ stats for 2012-2013, white violent offenders committed only 3.6% of their crimes against black victims.  That does not show any kind of a trend toward white racist murders in our country.  The number of white police officers who actually did commit murder against black victims is far below 3.6%, which tells me that the selection process for police officers is working.

Alternatively, violent black offenders committed over 40% of their crimes against other blacks, while simultaneously committing another 38% against white victims.  What does that say?  I don’t even know how to compute that except to say race doesn’t matter to them either – but they are far more prone to commit crime.

In fact although the black population in America comprises only about 20% of the population, 60% of all prisoners are black.  We can pussyfoot around and say this or that, their childhood was horrible, they never had a chance because the “man” held them down, or white people are racists and that’s why more black people get put in prison.  Or we can be honest and say that these black offenders grew up without fathers and have no sense of right and wrong.

When I hear Democrats like Hillary Clinton and Barrack Obama blame white police officers for shooting black offenders I just want to puke.  They are pandering for black votes.  And after 40 years of having the black vote, black repression has never been greater.  The Democratic party has never done anything for black Americans except tell them the other guy hates them.    78% of black children born in Chicago since 2003 were born to single women.  That is the President’s home town.  Is that how they are taking care of blacks?  Is that how “black leaders” are leading black families?

It doesn’t sound like leading to me.  It sounds like absolute chaos.  And when I hear BLM members shout “Kill Whitey” during a riot where a black officer killed an armed black suspect – it only confirms to me that chaos is the order of the Democratic way.

Stop throwing law and order under the bus for votes.

New DOJ Statistics on Race and Violent Crime

An “H” Food for Sweetie

Hominy bibbidy bobbidy –
Hominy bibbidy boo –
If I had a nickel –
I’d spend it all on you!
And if that nickel could buy a kite,
I’d fly it just as high –
as you make me feel –
each and every night –
So here is some hominy,
my bibbidy bibbidy boo –
I don’t really like it –
so I’ll save it all for you….
And if you need an “H” food,
to put across your lips,
I might suggest some hummus,
’cause it’s really good with chips!
Perhaps some ham covered in honey,
or halibut with horseradish sauce –
could complete an “H” food melody –
That could easily make you floss….
Hamburgers, headcheese,
hearts and pickled heels,
herbs and huckleberries,
heros and banana peels!
Bananas don’t rhyme.
They don’t have too.
They’re better than everything except the hamburger.
Bananas should be an “H” food.