The Congo

Vocation
He heard the call
to give back after all these years
of taking…

Prison
After years of marriage
to an unhappy woman with a high
whining voice he knew the pain
of the imprisoned

Unlocked
Divorce was the key to his freedom
he bumbled around looking for love
and realized service to others was his calling

Freedom
He decided to give witness to the jailed
offering the good news of the gospel
bringing hope of a better life in heaven

Challenge
He sought adventure and upped the ante
traveling to the Congo in Africa -

He entered unfamiliar places and threw down 
the gauntlet of salvation to the caged.

The Power of Speech

The ability to speak can sway masses.
The power of language to formulate ideas,
tell stories, plead for mercy or offer words of love
is found in every culture here on earth.

Animals can be calmed by the sound of a human voice
linked to music it can lull babies to sleep.
More than gutturals utterances
speech is made of words

with specific meanings, funny or absurd,
whose purpose is to communicate
and cross the bridge between two beings
whether whispered or shouted out loud

causing and action to happen
or a heart to melt. 

Santa Ana Train Station

In the dark recesses of the terminal
we waited for shadows to emerge
letting light fall on a face we recognized.
Grandpa carried a suitcase and a brown paper bag
his stay lasted two weeks 
then he headed back to San Diego.

When my sons were teens
we left the car in the parking lot
took off on our bikes for a 100 mile
trek. Stopped short and caught
the train in Del Mar, Rode back to the station
never taking that long bike trip again.

Wanted adventure outside the norm
boarded the train to Santa Barbra
celebrated our twenty-sixth anniversary
staying along the coast, taking the bus
to visit the mission and walking along the hills
eating at the Thai restaurant just past the zoo.  

One summer we planned a fieldtrip with the grand kids
caught the train in Santa Ana
rode along the back roads from here to L.A.
past storage yards and alley ways
saw overgrown paths with lots of bright graffiti
boldly painted on block wall fences and riverbeds.

Invited one son and his family
along the familiar route to L.A.
bumped along the railroad tracks
Santa Ana to Union Station then walked to Olvera Street.
Ate Mexican food amidst a fiesta to celebrate birthdays
but lost patience going home because of a train delay.

Plans are made to go again take the other son
and his family. Traveling along the familiar route
through the aging neighborhoods.
We’ve got to do it before we’re too old
travel the distance on our favorite ride.
aboard the Amtrak's famous railroad. 

Fairies In The Garden

Fairies flitting from flower to flower
honeysuckle and jasmine
aromas from spring and early summer
bottled in golden flasks of amber glass

placed in caves deep underground
total darkness until the time
wind chill and frost bring despair
the fairies spill the vessels across the floor

bringing hope to the frozen north
with a promise of springtime and gardens
awash in blooms where fairies flit from flower to flower
in the mysterious cycle of life

available in gardens everywhere. 

A Game My Grandpa Played

He had twelve children
and his children had ten or more

he had over one hundred grandchildren
and each, when they were babies,
played his game of Pon Pon.

He wrapped his arm around the infant
sitting on his lap then he would

take one hand with an outstretched finger

and put it into the opposing palm and sing

pon, pon cabe son

then he would lift the hand 
touch the forehead

then lift it and touch it again

sas cabecita

sas cabeson.

The words are how I remember them

my mom said they meant:

put, put in your hand

then hit your head

and hit it again.

Those who know Spanish

say I might have the words wrong
but all the same, I remember the game fondly,
recalling his tobacco smell and smooth hands

once a farmer but after his wife's death
stopped doing manual labor
waiting for his own life to end
but he lived until he was 99

playing that child’s game
with great grandchildren 

and great, great grandchildren.

There is little I remember about him
although his daughters feared him
and his sons treated him with respect.
A medium sized man, dressed in dark gray

always wearing 
a fedora styled hat
and dress shoes
he seem to have a lot to say

to those grandkids who understood Spanish

other than the little game 
he played with the babies
in our household he never said much
because we only spoke English.

He loved to eat my mother’s cooking
his favorite, chili and beans 
with little pieces of steak
and lots of homemade tortillas.

The farmlands of his youth
were sold for several thousand dollars
supported his retirement along with checks

from social security and retirement 
from the railroads.

Imagine growing up so long ago
living a life full of adventures
and the only story left for your 

grandchildren to remember

is a little child’s song

with the words all wrong

pon, pon cabe son

sas cabecita

sas cabeson.

Art Found In The Newspaper

The newspaper is a great place

to find art written in the headlines -
pieces of poetry, alliterations to catch the eye
becoming the narratives within the community.

Photographs, with graphic shots of people
and places, color juxtaposed upon contrasting color
creating an abstract of a building on fire
geometric shapes of blues and oranges

A sunlight landscape with repeating patterns
the emotional fabric woven into stories

more than gossip it is a revealation 
of people etching out a living in the chaos of life.

After the paper is read use it to line
the bottom of a bird cage,
make a hat for the grandchildren
or objects of Papier-mâché

paint in primary hues of yellow, red, and blue
place them upon the toy shelf to decorate a room
or use as masks for make-believe

fold to weave some colorful place mats

more than just the news
there is found art
in the morning paper.  

Nadya Suleman’s Kids

Sometimes I wake at night
worrying about Nadya Suleman’s kids

fourteen mouths to feed
twenty eight hands to wipe

children who must be clothed
and held, sung to and scolded
when necessary  

while she reveals her breast

to make this month’s rent.

I could send her $100
but from what I hear she will use it

to cut her hair
leaving the important work
of her children for others to support.

Social Services say the kids are fine
not to worry she’s getting the job done
but I worry they will be put out in the street

like vermin they will scatter everywhere
hiding in sewers and abandoned buildings
with little hands begging for food.

Some say she should put her litter
up for adoption like yellow labs
valued souvenirs for the barren.

Seems there are no solutions for the problem

faced by Nadya Suleman
and all her children,
and in the quiet of the night  

I say a prayer that they will be safe

maybe there can be a telethon

so people can sponser each child

sending in monthly payments

receiving monthly letters
to make sure the job is done.