have not recently read the real Whitman poet

though know not of any relationship

i with affection recall him as Uncle Walt

during the Civil War

i believe he tended the wounded

in Washington D.C.

we alone cannot

end current wars

and yet we have

if not always the best voice

this nation does have

the loudest voice…

From Ramalleh to Jerusalem

and from Gaza and Tel Aviv

people want peace

for their own people

and Baghdad and Beirut

and in this land

people want peace

for their own people

and i would say

i believe Uncle Walt

who wrote as he could

to represent the all

of the people

especially the working class people

he would likely agree

the rough and wrangle

of the great and lesser conflicts

that with the information age

first born with the telegraph

so that we now see through the lens

the suffering of those

whether innocent

or not so innocent

affected in these conflicts

and suffering of people

is as it is for all people

in the grip of suffering

for the crucial point be

that such conflict shall only end

when great and lesser leaders

decide to end the suffering

of their own people

and to even extend their compassion

to those who suffer as well

even again of who would be called

-the other side-.

and i believe Uncle Walt

who wrote of peoples of all shades

and would tolerate peoples

of all faiths and honourable views

likely would appreciate these words

and as i have said before

there be times when i

wearing the grey fedora

poet hat of mine

become naïve’ and dreamful

that peace and compassion

for its own sake could prevail

peace and compassion

need neither excuse nor apology

though be it impossible

to shake a hand with greeting

while it holds a sword

a gun or bomb

it be possible when each side;

is willing to share

the bounty of its land

with all who reside there;

to respect the views

of all who live in the lands;

allows those of slight difference

to live in peace

whether side by side

or in community nearby.

 * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

I awaken to a new dawn

tired and mild refreshed

and see a feeling within

of a little better hope

not from outside;

so much on the wider horizon

for daily it goes

each with that routine

yet also for those

that routine has no meaning

I delve into the unknown

not the mystic

though if better things

came to be

it would ring magical

and if not this day

to have routine broken

in a mystic and magic way;

it would raise that sweet

inward song

that song of joy

that would echo within

built on hope

extended to deeds

not of anger

or apprehension

rather the bravely bold

of standing for peace

in a peaceful way

though not in weakness

or silence

for peace is not a weak thing

as love is not a weak thing

for peace shall be a passion

as true romance is pure;

though it be not always gentle

as the hue of each flower

shall be shaded of each colour

the shades of peace

and of love

has in its own time

and moment

with differing strengths

and power and intensity

and yet what is seen

as soft and gentle

to reach out for peace

and love and romance

may yet take the strength

mightily from within

that the out-reached hand

the offered cheek

be accepted

and not slapped violently away…

* * * * * * * * * * * ** * * -making myself almost presentable…

this begins a writing exercise

as would a singer

sing a scale

a pitcher toss around

a baseball at a soft speed

working to a greater tempo

a louder or more complex

note progression

faster and more breaking stuff

it’s three in the afternoon

and I have yet to eat

or shave or shower

on a hot summer day

my, I am indelicate

yet today…

a bit of a snack

mashed potatoes smothered

with cream corn,

though not homemade

like at my grandmother’s

for Thanksgiving or Christmas…

Grandpa Leroy was doing

quite nicely into his eighties

but it always seemed to be

“… going to Grandma’s”

and I don’t think he

minded a bit.

Quite dashing actually

in his brown wool suit

in the 1930’s.

In 1963 in the light blue Rambler

that at age seven, with a push button

automatic on the dash

I thought was a regular size big car

though probably smaller

than a Kia Rio…

it be eighty degrees

and I in some ugly

dark khaki

wannabe docker shorts

no shirt and my grey fedora

listening to J.S. Bach

between bites of the mashed potatoes

and puff on self-rolled

Bugler cigarettes

because even if I won the lottery

I refuse to pay four bucks a pack

to support that filthy habit…

my, I am indelicate today

and soon will shower

and rinse because

when you notice those odors

of countless TV commercials

and even offend thyself

it be time rather

to wash and lather.

and yes, you may gather

there is no current

mistress or madame

of my humble domain

to whisper gently

upon my ears;

“Get your lazy smelly butt

in the bathtub…”

“…in a moment, dear.”

as I run the water

and plan some errands

and write this odorous

ode to a simple quiet

day of bachelor leisure.

for ladies, you know

it is always safe

to leave grown men

to their own devices

as far as gentility and manners

and decorum around a civil home…

in my present state

which soon I will alleviate

it is almost too much

and even crass or irreverent

to write of higher purpose

and prayers for peace

or singing badly

favorite old folk songs

acapella [spelling]

for the sake of ambience

and wishing the words might

become truth.

and this exercise

is come to its conclusion

on a hot summer day

as I attempt a slight level

of presentability

to what is called

pleasant society…

* * * * * * * * * * * * *     

and yes; years give you

more experience

though guarantees not

more wisdom

and I have begun to become

the old greybeard

admiring the feminine form

as I had as soon as I discovered

girls and that most of them

didn’t have cooties anymore…

as the years pass

I note that I admire beauty

for the sake of beauty itself

whether of nature

whether of human construct

or the beauty in some human thought

or in the human form

I objectify the concept of beauty in women

not just in form or figure

rather also in spirit

for a woman may have beauty in form

or beauty in spirit

and then wanders in

the woman of beauty

in both spirit and form

and this be a subjective view

for each man themselves to make…

I chuckle at the concept of one man

recognizing the handsomeness

of another man

and the jokes of a man-crush

and the needling towards

questioning his masculinity

for noting the potential attractiveness

of one of the same gender…

and a long time ago

I wrote of when two become

not a couple but actually

its own threesome

each partner an individual

for two and the identity

of these two together,

becoming a third being within

the emotional and perhaps

physical coupling…

and yes, most men are dogs

at heart…

and yes, with our own vanities

of one sort or another

it seems to me

that each of us

enjoys the validation

of having another

be –with—us

to display that we are worthy

of having another care and share

our daily life;

even more than wedding vows

that say in sickness and health;

for richer or poorer;

and even in our pleasantness

or our own pettiness;

the revelries and the vanities;

okay, even those eccentricities

and oddities

that make us human individuals

the battles and the romances,

the roses with or without the thorns…

whether be in pleasant companionship,

in pain or in passion

the many forms of the union

of two human spirits…