Orange                                                                                                                      01/16/23

Orange Boy died, just before Christmas,

         Natural causes, old age, over seventeen

He’d had a bout with something a few months ago,

            But seemed to bounce back, at least

Until the last few weeks, when he stopped eating regularly,

            Spending most of his days asleep in the studio,

In the bed set below the easel, coming out now and then

            To take water, and then even that stopped.

We brought him to the vet that Thursday night,

            The last ride. So hard to say goodbye

To this old friend. We’d had adventures,

This well-travelled cat, driven cross-country twice,

            From Brookings to Boston, and all stops between,

Born on the west coast, he spent a few years in the east, in the snow and cold,

Orange Boy, not the nicest of cats, truth be told,

            Cranky most of the time, reacted badly to strangers,

Who after trying to pet him would call out for bandages,

            And we too bled from occasional scratches,

But he was our cat, a gift as a kitten, a playful young fireball,

            Who’d break bread with the chickens, in the front yard,

In the morning, then climb to the uppermost branches

Of the old English walnut tree beside the house,

An unaccomplished mouser, he’d bring mice,

            A rodent he’d found in the basement,

Set it free in the hallway, still alive, then forget about it,

            And I’d chase the mouse down, trap it alive,

And send it into the neighbor’s yard, and go back inside

            To praise the cat, puffed with pride, resting on his laurels,

The great orange hunter, scourge of vermin, defender

            Of home and hearth, an almost boon companion,

For a long time. I’ve never had a pet so long, never

            Cared so much about a cat, for such a long time,

Orange Boy, my old friend, goodbye, au revoir,

We are left in our grief, you were always your irredeemable self, now gone,

and sorely missed.

The Last Election

They aren’t “conservatives”, those republicans lusting for absolute power,

What would they be conserving?

Not resources. Why is it far-right flags

            Wave from the beds of the biggest vehicles?

When can we have our flag back?

            Who stole our country?

I was sitting at a stop light yesterday,

            In another lane, a blue pick-up with a huge black flag

Flying over the bed, “FUCK BIDEN” was all it said,

            In stark white block letters.

“Conserve”, to safeguard, support, protect, maintain, preserve, to keep, to sustain;

            Democracy is not safeguarded by these “conservatives”,

Our constitution isn’t supported by those dismantling freedom,

            The country is not protected by autocrats, “conservators” circumventing law

To disavow the rights and participation of Americans who don’t agree, Americans

            Who demand truth, Americans of conscience, Americans

Waiting for all nations to coalesce

            To save this planet for our children

And our children’s children in the dwindling time

            We have left to act.

I despair for the country, so much bad news on the wind,

            This is not the country I knew as a child,

Even after decades of contention, alternating tidal surges

            Of progression and regression, there was a consistent subtext:

Those in power worked from a platform of mutually observed rules,

            Rules of behavior, rules of decorum, rules of order,

Those elected were obliged to work on behalf of their constituents,

            And the betterment of all, for the strength and growth of the country,

With an eye to the future and historical context,

            We, the bright shining beacon, the thousand lights, the great society,

The arbiters of the new deal, we who asked what we could do

            For our country, setting the standard, lighting the way

For the rest of the world,

            Not the largest donors or richest PAC.

Where are your white hats now, boys?

Where’s the America of my youth? Looking back in sepia tones,

            I kept faith that we, as a society, were committed to progress,

Raising the standards for all of us,

            Nurturing the poor, educating the young, housing the needy,

Even with the upheaval of the sixties, the framework

            Of war and death and riots and intolerance, the forward momentum

Of hope and change sustained and supported us, allowed us to lead

            On the world stage, the envy of all nations.

We are days away from national elections, and the ground is

            Soiled with lies and slurs and misrepresentations.

As a public service, I’d like to offer a few facts to “conservatives”,

            Even though they won’t, or can’t, listen, nor understand:

Donald Trump did not win the election in 2020, not the popular vote,

            Not the electoral college.

Donald Trump did not win the 2016 election,

            Not the popular vote- the vote that should count.

Democrats are not socialists. Nancy Pelosi is not a socialist.

            Democrats are passionate about the environment,

About freedom and equality for all Americans, not just right-wing Americans.

            Democrats are not demagogues. Donald Trump is a demagogue.

Democrats do not want to destroy this country. Democrats want,

            And need, to save this country, and the world.

Yes, democrats will do what’s needed to move the country forward,

            Provide for the wanting, protect the environment,

Reverse climate change, which is real and happening and

            Imperils the world. Yes, we’re coming to take away

Your hemi-charged V-8s, monster trucks, monolithic SUVs,

            To save us all. We’ll take your guns too, it’s the

Right thing to do.

I despair for the country, the fragility of democracy. In my paranoia

            I wonder that this might be the last election,

With all rules and reason abandoned, distrust and rancor at every turn,

            (my great liberal fear: That the far right regains control of congress,

Renounces and ousts our sitting president, and re-installs

            Their lying leader, the clown prince,

Disgracefully returned to office, without objection from the courts,

             The business sector, the military-industrial complex, with a compliant congress

Watching as the country slides into fascism, descends into chaos).

With an eye for destruction, robber barons and religious oppressors

             Run amok. Might this be the last election? I first voted fifty years ago,

And watched criminal Richard Nixon win in a landslide, and I despaired then

            As desperately as now, witnessing so many Americans

Deceived and oblivious and unwilling to see the evil in front of their eyes,

            Or even care. Still, the rules of the game then applied,

Even after the murderous sixties, the veneer of decorum persisted.

             It’s twilight in America. Almost like the Nazis repelled

                          The boys storming the beaches at Normandy.

What would my father, had he lived long enough, thought

            Of the cowardly stewardship of trump, whose

Dad bought deferral from service, this misogynistic

            Pathological liar, what would he have thought,

After giving some of the best years of his life to the Navy,

             Who put his life on the line to stop fascism, what would he say

To see half of an American population held in thrall

              By an ignoramus intent to destroy this country, it’s hope,

It’s status, and in doing so destroy the planet itself.

With a national election less than two weeks away,

             Perhaps the last one,

This becomes a litany of lost hope

             And a call to arms,

In hopes that the insanity, this avalanche of lies, zealotry,

             And nihilism will stop, the practitioners banished

Back to the subterranean depths where they used to be,

             Before being called forth and championed by a fool,

Before creating this new American nightmare,

             Before they finish us all.

10/29/22

A summerlong event hosted by Artists in Action

Gallery Opening October 1, 2022 at the Elsinore Gallery in Salem, OR

At Guenther’s Gardens

We’re searching for inspiration

            In this ravaged time,

From the horns of Angel’s Trumpets,

            From clusters of bamboo, in the shade

Of palms and Japanese maples,

            Koi leaping from the surface

Of a turbid, listless pond,

            Fruitlessly chasing red dragonflies

Hovering over the water,

            On a clear summer day,

Season already fading, trickling of fountains

            Under a hazy white sky,

Beseeching the muse, ever silent.

We repair to the beer garden and

            Sit amidst ferns and hydrangea.

Guenther’s Gardens is wrapped

            By a perimeter of Douglas Fir,

And behind the fir the slate-grey

            Ridges of apartment buildings,

The outskirts of the city,

            But we rest in the shade, quiet

Murmuring of voices, bees buzzing softly

            In the butterfly bushes,

The drinks are cold, the company warm.

We’re trying to find inspiration

            In a senseless world,

Even if it comes only in small bits,

            The wash of water

Over smooth rocks below a spring,

            The whisper of breeze through boughs

Of big-leaf maple, of fledgling pine,

            The indelible sense of transition,

How ephemeral is all

            In this passing season,

                        In this ravaged time.

and other poems from the new millennium