Futurelawyer

#PoetryFriday - Television Girl

Television Girl

He seldom got his news from television.
The crime of the day,
or the cruelty of man,
seemed too real in video form.
He remembered the images
of VietNam that populated his youth.
Every night on the news,
another soldier
died in public.
He preferred the newspaper.
It allowed him to imagine
a world
with goodness in it.

Tonight, however, he waited
for the news on TV.
He waited for her
to tell the world about him.
As her image flickered on the screen,
he watched,
transfixed,
and shared a secret knowledge
with her.

She spoke of him
with a tender reed of a voice
and a regal air.
She was his Queen,
and he her loyal subject.

He would fight for her.

He imagined that he was an ancient nobleman,
Fighting a war
for his country
and his Queen.

He wondered
whether the image on the screen
was a fantasy,
until he remembered
that she promised to come to him
after the show.

The news, and the future,
didn’t seem so bleak anymore.

#PoetryFriday - Spending Time On Planet Earth

SPENDING TIME ON PLANET EARTH

He rubbed his eyes
and drank the coffee.
The room was quiet
and his books surrounded him.
He heard the hum of the fluorescent light
that didn’t seem natural.
The keyboard keys gave a satisfying click
and the sound rhythmically marked his progress
as he wrote.
He adjusted his glasses
and remembered a time long ago
when he didn’t need them.
He felt the twinge of his arthritis
which reminded him regularly
that he was old.
He was alone
in the early morning
and wondered where his wife might be.
He made a mental note
of the things he had to do today,
but knew that he wouldn’t do them all.
He would feel guilty about it tomorrow.
It felt like he was waiting for something.
He kept a routine,
because he didn’t want to worry
about what would happen next.
But, he knew
what waited for him.
He tried to imagine what was on the other side
of the door.
He realized that he no longer heard
the hum of the air conditioner.
But, as soon as that idea occurred,
the hum became louder.
No matter how much he moved the books
and other stuff around,
all of it still needed to be rearranged..
He knew that he faced endless days
of rearranging
and redistributing
and dusting everything,
until he wasn’t there to rearrange anymore.
He knew that everything dies
sooner or later.
Why was he spending his life organizing it?

#PoetryFriday - PaperClip

Richard Georges shared a memory.

Richard Georges

May 15, 2018 · 

 

Depositions And Other Lies.
Every lawyer has favorite deposition stories. Once, while I was deposing a Bank Vice President who had denied my client a loan and denied that personal animus was a factor, he answered a question by calling my client a "scumbag". After I then proceeded to question him about every decision he made about my "scumbag" client for about half an hour, the bank's attorney decided to approach me about a settlement. But, not all depositions are as much fun. Normally, watching the varied ways in which people lie and make excuses for past conduct is boring. I mean really boring. It is difficult to maintain concentration. During one of those voyages into human boredom, I wrote this poem. Trust me, you will never look at a paper clip in the same way again.

PAPER CLIP

I twist you in my hand
Slim metal
Turning around
to face the music
of my musing.

Now, you look like a pretzel.
Then, again, a rigid snake.
Inanimate
Cold
Steely jawed
without emotion.

As I doodle with my mind
The table vibrates
and you move slowly
to the drum of a distant hand
tapping to a beat
I cannot hear.

Will I be this bored
when the music stops?

 

 

 

 

#PoetryFriday - Famous Man.

Famous Man

He gave tours of the house and garden.
He guided his guests
down the hallways
and into the rooms,
filled with trophies and awards.
The ribbons and medals were neatly arranged
in shadow boxes
made from wood and metal and glass.
They glowed in the morning light
that came through the windows,
made of Italian glass.

In the halls were photographs
of his conquests
and his ceremonies.
They were filled with more trophies
and awards,
testimonies to his career
and his past glory.

He loved to talk about his past,
while he spent his present
reminding everyone of what he had been.

He is dead now.
Others give the tours;
but, they do it in a graveyard,
telling all who will listen
about the great man buried here,
who once was famous
and great
and who collected medals and trophies.
The medals and trophies
sit in dusty boxes,
in pawn shops and the bedrooms of his fans.
They live their lives in his shadow.
They measure their happiness
by his accomplishments.

#PoetryFriday - Surviving In A Crazy World

Simple Pleasures

He awoke from the weekend slumber
and thought about the problems
coming in the week.
He moved slowly to the coffee machine
and ingested enough caffeine to open his eyes.
He worried a bit,
and showered, dressed and moved to the car outside.

It was hot,
and he thought about the coming electric bill.
It was humid,
and his shirt stuck to his body.
It was early,
and he had much work to do.

Then, he realized
that the car felt good
as he pressed the accelerator.
The air conditioning felt amazing
as it blew cool air through the heat.
The steering wheel was firm and fit perfectly
in his hand.
The windshield wipers
made a rhythmic sound
as they moved back and forth on the glass.
His favorite music resonated in his ears.
The blue sky and sunshine
were a beautiful sight.
His joint pain
reminded him
that he was alive.
His breathing reminded him
that the future was irrelevant.
He was glad that he was breathing,
and feeling,
and touching,
and smelling,
and seeing
the wonders of his world.

#PoetryFriday - Always Watching

Always Watching.

I watched you smile the first time.
I watched you move in and out of the car.
I listened as you spoke kind words
and I watched what you did when I looked at you.
I heard you speak the words of love
even though I wasn’t listening.
I pretended that you weren’t real
because I couldn’t believe that you were.
I acted impulsively when I was near you
and didn’t act as quickly as I wanted.
I learned to watch and listen
when you thought I was being ridiculous.
I watched as you moved gracefully through life
while I struggled to cope.
I was jealous of the attention you gave
to everything and everyone else.
I was selfish and you were generous.
I never believed that you would leave me.
When you did,
I watched with anguish
and didn’t understand.
I watched you die
and was amazed at your calm.
I cried when I kissed you the last time
and wished I had done it more often.
I would like to believe that you are now watching
as I live a life that will certainly end someday.
I have found happiness again,
and don’t know whether your consciousness
lives in another realm.
If it does, I hope that you approve,
even though we can never know
what lays on the other side of midnight.

When I wake up in the early morning light
I watch as the sun comes up
and watch my lover sleeping.
She watches me,
and I watch over her.
We have both watched lovers speaking
and moving
and loving
and dying.

We have days ahead
to watch and learn and love again.

Wisdom From The Execupundit

Discovery. There is a truism in law practice about juries. Never lay out every single fact for them. Never speak every conclusion. Most of us want to think we make decisions on our own. We like solving puzzles. Lawyers need to give the jury something to figure out for themselves. In the same way, today's post, which suggests two ways of being found to be intelligent. One is to tout how smart and intelligent and great you are every chance you get. We all know these people. There is a difference between noting your skills, and bragging about them. The second way is to allow others to discover your intelligence themselves. It brings to mind one of my favorite poems from Emily Dickinson:

I'm Nobody! Who are you? 

Emily Dickinson - 1830-1886

 

I'm Nobody! Who are you?

Are you – Nobody – too?
Then there's a pair of us!
Don't tell! they'd advertise – you know!

How dreary – to be – Somebody!
How public – like a Frog –
To tell one's name – the livelong June –
To an admiring Bog!

#PoetryFriday - Traveler

Traveler

I am a traveler in time,
going from place to place,
loving from day to day.

I stop at various inns,
for a drink and a bed.
I wonder whether my time will end
with a lover of souls,
a woman with the soul of a lover.

I stop occasionally,
to view the sights
and hear the sounds of strange towns.
I talk to the people
indigenous to the region.

They humor me
as I pass through their lives,
of pain and hurt
that I cannot cure,
and will never understand.

I am looking for she who knows
that my travelling soul
longs to stop
in a town with a warm hearth,
and a bed filled with love,
showered with rose petals,
bathed in the scent
of permanence
and wonder.

#PoetryFriday - Magic Wand

Magic Wand.

"Daddy, I love you, let me splash you with my magic”,
She said, frolicking in the pool,
Holding her rubber ducky,
which doubled as a pool thermometer.

In her eyes, it was a magic wand,,
capable of great feats.

All things were possible.

How could I tell her
that life would disappoint her,
that in between the ecstasy and the joy,
was pain and horrible things.
How could I tell her
that the mementos of a happy childhood
would dissolve into days of sadness and hurt?

But was that true after all?

I looked into the eyes of a true lover,
her purity unsullied by the failures of the world.
I wondered if her true love would wash over me
and transform the world into a magical place,
where unconditional caring was commonplace.

I turned away so that she would not see the tears,
hoping that her time of magic would last long,
and that some of her magic would always be there
to splash over me.

Obituary

#PoetryFriday - Death Is A Constant Companion.

I am at an age when I actually read the obituary page, and look for names of people I know. Every day, the ages seem younger to me. This is a right of passage for those of us who are old. We can either be cheered if our age is older than the souls on the page, or allow ourselves to be saddened by them. But, death comes to us all. It could be this weekend. So, let's do a lot of things this weekend that we wouldn't want our biographer to write about.
OBITUARY

I wrote your obituary today.
I told the truth
But not the whole truth.
I wrote the truth that we all tell each other
and others
and post on Facebook walls
and in Newspapers
I didn’t write the truth we keep in our hearts.

I didn’t write about the battles we fought together
and alone.
I didn’t write about the secrets we kept from others
and from ourselves.
I didn’t write about the truths we humans
don’t want others to know.

I wrote about your accomplishments
I wrote about the love others had for you
I wrote about the public face
we all show the world.

But, I didn’t write about your incandescent eyes
I didn’t write about your caring soul
I didn’t write about the wry tilt of your head
When I was being ridiculous.

I didn’t write about the words we spoke
in the night.
I didn’t write the truths we admitted to each other
in the early morning light.
I didn’t write about our sins, our faults, or our failings.
I didn’t write about the daily struggles we faced
in a world consumed by desire and evil.

I wanted to write about the heartache of a string of days without you.
I wanted to express the pain of loss
I wanted to tell the world that you were the best person I ever knew.

I only told them what they wanted to hear.