An August summer, still full in bloom,
stretched wonderfully, endlessly ahead,
moseying along
through childhood’s carefree days,
like a long, slow lazy river,
leaving so much time,
so much time,
to play and swim and bike and run
and get up and out just whenever.

Whenever the sun,
or the ice cream truck’s song,
or a wonderful book’s promise of adventure and escape called,
our younger selves answered with unbridled delight.
We jumped joyously into those moments,
frolicking in the freedom
of all that August offered.

Long for forgotten
was school’s constricting structure,
homework, just halfway understood,
the unease of encountering
barely friendly peers.
Autumn’s solemn, sober voice
lay eons away,
unable to penetrate
even the edges
of that vast unending universe of
August’s easy laughter and
and tumbling runs
through woods, and
brightly anticipated
family vacations
with an exuberant new puppy,
and parents unburdened
from a few weeks of work,
and brothers and sisters
just as high as any other kid
free from the stormy business
of school.
In August,
the mere thought of September
did not even exist,

until now.

Now, when the days rush
fast and furious
towards deadlines and inescapable duties.
The calendar, a constant companion, calls
even in August, and wants to know,
what meeting, what appointment, what financial concern
will demand attention
five weeks, five months, or five years from now.
The lingering taste of some responsibility,
the whispering scent of work to be done,
now lightly taints the purity
of what used to be
the boundless, unfettered joy
of childhood’s August fun.

Greenness covered the soft forest floor
and stillness reigned through the trees once more.
Commanded to silence was each living thing
in the awesome presence of two towering beings

standing face to face, clothed in muscle and might
armed with bare grimness and ready to fight
a battle in which one winner stands tall
while the other in death’s mighty grip would fall.

Two fighters whose names struck fear in men’s hearts,
Günther the Gruesome and Derek the Dark.
The Gruesome’s great deeds were known through the land,
vicious in battle, slaying many a man

who dared to presume he was greater than great,
found his arrogance shattered and death his fate,
delivered to the depths of the underworld
by the swift singing sharpness of his bright sword.

And Derek the Dark whose temper was hot
as the flames which from the dragon’s mouth shot
was known to seize men who merely stepped on his toe
and slash them to pieces with a crushing blow.

Now how did it happen that these two stood
seething with anger, face to face in the woods?
In faith I shall tell thee how it came to be,
for this lay records ancient history.

In a country known as Burgundess
lived a king who was in great distress.
For his fair daughter had been spirited away
by six wicked witches who lived in a cave,

where after the passing of thirteen nights
when the moon was full and the bats in flight,
those sinister sisters would add to their brew
the heart and lungs of poor princess Rinu!

To the man who could save her from this witch band,
the desperate king promised his daughter’s hand.
But after twelve short nights had gone by,
three thousand great warriors in the attempt had died.

Slain by the huge beast guarding the entrance,
those battle brave thanes had barely a chance
against a creature weighing nine thousand stones,
eagerly slurping up blood and men’s bones.

On this twelfth night the king pleaded in despair,
But to venture near the cave, no one would dare.
So princess Rinu might have been in the brew
if Günther the Gruesome had not heard the news,

and jumped on his steed, flashing sword in hand,
he galloped fiercely across the wide land,
never stopping for sleep, water or rest,
spurring his mount on to Burgundess.

Twenty-three hours he rode his tireless steed
arriving at the palace of the poor desperate king
exactly one hour before the moon was full
when doom was to meet poor princess Rinu.

The Gruesome strode boldly before the king’s throne
and his voice shook the palace’s pillars of stone
as he proclaimed to the king “Rinu shall not die,
If these cowards cannot save her, then so must I!”

With no further words he stalked out of the room,
rode to the wretched witch cave of deep gloom
and with his bright sword sliced the monster in two,
seized the six sisters and threw them in the brew,

where they boiled amidst loud wails and screams,
shrieking their curses, saying terrible things,
‘til the Gruesome put an end to that horrible racket
when he hacked off their heads with his trusty hatchet.

Then heaving again that bright cutting blade,
from her chains he freed the trembling maid,
who, now finally safe from certain harm,
collapsed into her hero’s strong arms.

And she gazed at him with such gratefulness
that his bold heart felt a tenderness
for this gentle girl whom he soon was to wed
(as the king had promised) and to share her bed

where he’d willingly weaken to her womanly charms
and be utterly strength-less in soft supple arms
as she tenderly kissed his lips and cheek,
one so strong sweetly conquered by one so meek.

But as he held his princess engaged in such thoughts,
a danger was approaching of which he knew naught.
For at the cave’s entrance, who did appear?
‘Twas Derek the Dark, on his face a mean sneer.

For he carried a magic mix of green gall,
which when thrown in the eyes would make any man fall
at once helpless and weak to the damp ground,
where he would sleep for three hours, not hearing a sound.

This dastardly deed, dark Derek did do,
and when Günther fell, he seized princess Rinu!
He dragged the struggling girl to his steed,
threw her upon it and rode to the king,

announcing that he had saved Rinu’s life
and demanded that she be made his wife.
Rinu vainly denied all that was said,
and with tears in her eyes cried, “I’d rather be dead,

than wed this wicked man with no heart,
when my true hero lies alone in the dark,
unfairly and cowardly felled by this fink,
whose unmanly weapon was some magic drink!”

“My child,” said the king with a heavy sigh,
“you must marry Derek the Dark for I
have promised your hand to the man who freed you,
now not a word more, Derek will have you.”

Rinu fell to her knees in sorrow and fear,
but her pitiful pleas the king would not hear.
So the princess may well have met with this fate
if Günther the Gruesome had not stormed the gates

of the palace, tossing aside the king’s guards,
striding boldly into the main court yard,
throwing open the doors to the royal hall,
his tempestuous temper a terror to all

who quickly scurried out of his path,
fearing the heaviness of his great wrath.
“KING!” he roared, making the earth itself quake,
“this Derek the Dark is a sniveling fake.

He thought he’d beat me with his wizardly tricks.
By Zeus, I shall send him to the River of Styx,
for he boldly stole what I’ve rightly won.
With none but I shall the princess come!”

The Dark then spoke menacingly to the king.
“You know who speaks the truth of this thing.
I alone brought your daughter back to you.
You shall die if you fail to pay what is due.”

So that cowardly king, fearing for his life,
granted that his daughter be the Dark’s wife.
Then Günther the Gruesome, in utter disgust,
said, “If you will not fight for her, then I must.”

And he challenged the Dark to a death duel,
which Derek accepted, calling Günther a fool,
swearing, “My sword shall surely send you to Hell,
along with the others who by my strength fell.”

Günther said not a word, but unsheathed his sword
and he stalked to the open palace door,
and hurled his blade toward a wood in the west.
Where it landed, they would battle and learn who was best.

It was in this wood, thirty miles away
where they found the sword wedged deep in the clay
of a river bank whose name is now known
for the vicious battle where a great man was thrown.

Günther slowly pulled his sword from the ground,
stared straight into Derek’s furious frown
and spoke these words which echoed through the trees,
“Now Derek, I shall bring you to your knees.”

The Dark then yelled a maddening cry,
heaved his sword, determined Günther would die.
But the blade that would have cut him through
met the oak behind him which fell in two.

Having skillfully dodged that fatal blow,
Günther lifted his sword, in his eyes a mean glow,
and he dashed at the Dark with such blinding speed
that he vanished from sight so that Derek could not see

in which direction he was to fight.
But the gods were with him for he leapt to the right
narrowly escaping the sword’s hungry bite
which whistled past him, flashing white.

“So slow!” the Dark then haughtily declared.
But Günther answered back with a treacherous glare
and with his hands ripped a tree from the ground
and flung it at Derek, knocking him down

to the slippery clay of the river’s edge
where Günther thought to soon make him dead.
But the Dark knocked Günther’s sword from his hand
and with grim-fisted strength pulled the man

into the river’s bottomless depths
where the two wrestled with life and death
underneath the black and murky waters
long and hard for seventeen hours.

This battle raged on for thirty days,
each man tireless and unwilling to give way,
not eating, not sleeping, not stopping for rest
“til one would fall, the other withstanding the test.

On this thirtieth day, the gods must have been at their games
which they play with the lives of men who have fame
as well as with men who have nothing at all,
for they find great pleasure in a mortal’s downfall.

From sweet Middle Earth they vowed Günther would depart,
for they let Derek’s sword cut deep and close to his heart.
Günther stumbled away, trailing blood through the wood
which the Dark coldly followed, knowing he would

soon with his sword stand over this man
who shortly would die by his great hand.
And Günther might have met with death’s deep darkness,
But who should appear? His beloved Princess!

How wretched she felt to find her love
dragging himself and covered with blood!
She knelt down beside him and cradled his head
So helplessly fearful that he soon would be dead.

But as she looked in his eyes and stroked his chin,
a surge of great strength shot through his limbs
‘til all the weakness he felt was now gone,
and the clench of his fist was ten times as strong.

At this moment the Dark broke through the trees
and found his rival holding Rinu on his knee.
Derek scornfully laughed, a hard glint in his eye,
saying, “It is on your knees that you both shall die!”

He then swung his sword with all of his force,
But Günther’s great hand stopped its deadly course.
And he wrenched the weapon from Derek’s hand
and hurled it away across the wide land.

Günther then grabbed his hand with such a hard grip
and squeezed until the blood did drip
from Derek’s quivering fingertips
as in pain and fear he bit his lips.

“Plead mercy man, and I shall set you free.
If you want your life, I shall grant it thee,
on condition that you will leave this place.
If I see you again, you will get no grace.”

That the Dark who had shortly before trembled with fear,
now shook with great anger was entirely clear.
For his haughtiness drove away pain and dread
as soon as he heard the word “Mercy” said.

“I’ll have none of your mercy you ignorant fool!
Damn you to Hell and your princess Rinu!”
And though he knew well there remained no escape,
he spitefully spat into Günther’s face.

So quick was the rip that rushed through the bone
the Dark did not notice his arm was gone,
‘til he saw the limb his Günther’s hand,
lifeless and dripping blood in the sand.

“You wretch,” said Günther, no pity in his eye.
“I offered you mercy, you chose to die.
Your blood shall now feed the thirsty leech,
and on your foul flesh, the worms shall feast.

Then he turned away from that horrible sight,
picked up his princess who trembled with fright
and quickly carried her away from the scene
where he had conquered that terrible fiend.

Once out of the woods Rinu looked up to his face
and sighed “Ah, Günther, at last we are safe.”
He then brushed back her hair, and kissed her sweet lips,
soon certain to share with her great joy and bliss.

That was the legend of Günther’s great fight,
the reward for his braveness, a joyful life.

Composed Fall 1989

I saw joy in his eyes
as he beheld her face.
His soul, still young and wise,
knew beauty’s love and grace.

Her gentle voice and touch,
her smile, pure delight,
had no doubt taught him much
of beauty’s depth and height.

Such wisdom’s lost to me.
It left long, long ago.
My eyes now only see
false beauty’s shallow show.

I envy that small child,
whose eyes are not yet blind,
who sees in grandma’s smile
pure beauty well defined.

What every crease reveals,
and every yellowed tooth,
that child sees and feels
of beauty’s timeless truth.

They gaze at my star-filled skies,
seeking some comforting sign,
that in this vast coldness lies
the Benevolent Divine.

They launch intricate machines
to probe my deepest space.
Awed by ancient cosmic scenes,
they revere this lifeless place.

With brilliant minds they contemplate
what my distant worlds may hold,
and yearn to one day populate
a place less marvelous and bold.

They search longingly way out here
where I glitter in endless dark,
though their answers dwell so near
while I lie furthest from the mark.

Not to be venerated,
I’m mere remnants left behind
when a Bang reverberated
through a Universe designed

to conceive, bear and cradle
a small, yet precious thing
whose existence did enable
a most pure and sacred Being

to emerge in stunning glory
throughout their dazzling blue-green globe,
each line of the Divine story
fully open for them to probe.

And yet they’re unaware,
their sun, sea, rain and air,
miraculous and rare,
hold Holiness right there.

Instead they look to me,
an empty entity,
devoid of empathy,
because they cannot see

the wise, compassionate Presence
dwells precisely where they are,
a singular magnificence
well nurtured by their star.

Their world’s been clearly marked
by the passionate Hand that sparked
the explosion that gave birth
to a life-sustaining Earth.

 

 

This is not the same sound
that gets played every day.
Open your minds,
and hear what I’ve got to say.

If you listen to these words,
you’ll hear a voice you’ve never heard,
tho’ it’s been in your head
from the time of your birth,
and every single second
that you’ve walked on this earth.

The noise that’s been bombarding you
may have drowned it out.
But if you turn down the volume,
you will hear it shout.

“I am the slave ship survivor
at the root of your family tree.
My strength and my courage
flows strong to you from me.

Death was all around me
in the bowels of that stinking ship.
But I held tight to life,
while others let it slip.

Tho’ you may not know my name,
the fire of my soul
courses thru your veins.
Un-extinguished by the brutality
of four barbaric centuries,
this enduring determination,
passed down thru the generations,
to find a way thru each cruel day
is my precious gift to you
to fight oppressions old and new.

I survived so you could thrive
in the land of the free.
How will you honor my legacy?”

Now hear the ancestor’s voice,
and remember you have a choice
to live with strength and dignity
or enslave your mind in the poverty
of ignorance and hopelessness,
believing wrongly you have less
than what it takes to reach success.

Remember those who came before,
and know that in your blood runs more
resilience and resistance-
Even when life’s hardness overwhelms, just be persistent.

Remember you are not alone.
In the core of every cell and bone
they reside to help you rise
above self-doubt and realize
you have the power to overcome
when you honor the past from which you’ve come.

They survived so you could thrive
in the land of the free.
How will you honor their legacy?

Genius is born in all kinds of places,
in African, Asian, American faces.
In Europe among both rich and poor
it doesn’t just come to those who have more
money for teachers, tutors and schools
which prime their pupils with the proper tools
to soar into places, wielding power and clout,
while a humbler genius is simply shut out.

Genius takes root in every land,
in Bosnia, Brazil or in the Sudan.
In the midst of misery, famine and war,
it waits for someone to open a door.
For within the walls of poverty,
lie the glimmers of great possibility.

Bright-eyed baby in a mud brick home,
no heat, no light, no telephone,
warms hope-starved souls with her silent smile,
for they see something special in this child.

As she grows and blossoms with each passing day,
she clearly sees the world in a different way.
She finds patterns in numbers no others can see,
Elaborate lines of geometry
emerge in the sand under her careful hand
which no one in her village can understand.

On every test she surpasses the rest,
Her teachers know she is clearly the best.
Her questions reveal an inquisitive mind
that reaches for answers few people can find.

She dreams to soar above her poverty,
but her wings are clipped by reality,
as machete-armed soldiers storm into her world
slashing short the bright future of one little girl.

Genius dies quietly in so many places,
a withering sea of white, black and brown faces.
Though genius sprouts often, it rarely is found,
Eternally silenced, buried deep underground
in woods, in fields, in rivers, mass graves,
on migrant farms where kids work like slaves.
Genius ground down to dust in the mills,
in sweat shops, where hope and ambition is killed.
Not nurtured, nor noticed, never known to exist.
A child has died.  What did the world miss?

An answer to cancer? Exquisite work of art?
A leader who inspires nations to start
searching for solutions that lead to resolutions,
building hope and replacing disillusion?

Answers to questions no one will ever know
as long as senseless death tolls continue to grow.
Whatever it takes, we each must decide
how to help, heal, guide or provide
a piece of hope, no matter how small,
for our world’s future depends on us all.

 

 

Oh God, I know I feel it coming!
Pants bust loose and stomach bulging
over Jeans- they’re way too tight
to hide a waist that wins the fight

and spills out, fat before the world,
proclaiming pound cake and cheese curls.
I say that this is THE last straw.
I’ll build a bod’ without a flaw.

No more cupcakes or double fudge bars.
Out with chips and cookie jars.
I’ll shun the tempting tastes of sweets,
cherry cheesecake and other treats.

Starting NOW, I refuse to eat
that luscious junk, vow not to cheat.
NO, not one crumb will touch my lips,
NO, not one eensy Hershey’s kiss!

I’ll do it now, there is no doubt,
I’ve got the strength, the will, the clout
to firmly check that greedy finger
that reaches for a crème-filled Zinger.

No problem now, I’ll just be strong.
Skip those treats and I won’t go wrong.
For tons of Twinkies will enlarge my girth,
But,
Surely now…
Just one
won’t hurt?

 

 

I hear that volunteering
adds years to your life,
and not just any kind of years-
but the kind that make you feel
happy, healthy and well-connected.

What higher form of payment
could you receive
in exchange for work that already
gives back so much?

I hear that gratitude
adds years to your life,
and not just any kind of years-
but the kind that bring you faith
in the goodness and generosity of others.

What material wealth
could hold more value
than the comfort and security
built on such unshakable trust?

Of all the people on the planet,
is there anyone
who does not need to freely give
in order to experience
the full joy of life?

Who among us has no need to receive
what is freely given
in order to understand
the peace that flows from gratitude?

If the circle
of unconditional giving and receiving
sustains life
in the most fulfilling way we know,

why must money move the world
when help is wanted?