Futurelawyer

Which Side Of The Fence Are We On?

It occurs to me that observing zoo animals and their habits doesn't always depend on which side of the fence you are on. From here, you all look like objects to observe. I suspect you feel the same way about me and mine. 

ZOO

He watched the animals behind the fence.

They were oblivious to him;

they ate the grass

lay in the sun

slept in public.

He wandered from pen to pen

with the other animals like him

seeking enjoyment from watching another species

live its life

behind a fence.

They lived in the moment

while he and his fellow animals

lived wondering what the next moment would bring.

He recorded their images

posted them to Facebook

marveled at their beauty

and never considered whether

they knew or cared.

He grew tired of the walking

and wanted to rest

in the sun.

He found himself

longing for a life

behind the fence

that was actually free.

He wanted to live;

but, first, he had to learn to see.

#PoetryFriday - Hotel.

HOTEL

As he waited in the empty lecture hall
for his turn at bat,
He thought about her.

Her face was in every seat.

He felt the loneliness
of the room,
and wondered about the rest of his life.

He stood at a crossroads,
barred by a locked gate.
She held the key.

Would the road to her love
open for him?

Or, would he, again, walk alone
down a road with no end,
and no destination
worthy of a visit.

Would he find another love ,
after another mile,
and another day?

Would he be so far down the road
when she realized he was gone
that she couldn’t find him?

Would he wait for her,
or go inside the lecture hall
and speak his truth
to strangers?

#PoetryFriday - Monster In The House.

Monster In The House.

He knew there was a monster in the building.
It was just around the corner of the hallway.
It always disappeared
as he made the turn
and headed towards the rooms of the house.
He crept silently down the stairs,
certain that he would find it sleeping
on the living room floor.
But, no matter how quiet he moved,
it was never there when he arrived
at the bottom.
He began to rise,
earlier and earlier,
and looked inside the drawers
and the closets.
He remembered the monster in the closet
after she died,
but that one he killed,
one article of clothing at a time.
Once, he thought he had it trapped
inside the laundry room;
but, when he turned on the light switch,
he only heard the scurrying
of little feet,
that he presumed belonged
to an ancient species of insect
that had survived for millennia,
and fed on crumbs
and leftovers.
After a long while,
he realized that his anxiety
must be overblown,
and he let his guard down a bit.
When she brought him a cup of coffee,
and kissed his cheek,
and held his hand,
he couldn’t hear the monster
walking anymore.

New Year's Day In A Pandemic. Time To Party.

During a Pandemic, it is too easy to spend our lives frowning, and being careful, and worrying about whatever. We walk around with serious faces, and serious moods. May I suggest an alternative. I don't want to be the guy in this poem. 

A Serious Man.

He was a serious man.
His days were spent,
brow furrowed,
arguing about serious things.
He was never idle,
and didn’t tolerate those who were.
His time was spent
arguing about serious topics,
and thinking about serious things.
He made lists of things that needed doing.
He attacked them with dedication
and resolve.
No one could say that he was derelict
in fulfilling the duties assigned to him.
He had no time for fun.
Life was too serious for that.
He demanded that everyone
treat life as seriously as he.
He avoided those who frolicked
and spent time in useless inaction.
He would not waste his life
that way.
We all knew that he was a serious man,
not to be trifled with.
He got things done.
He never blinked.
He never swore.
He never was seen
to smile.
Smiling was a waste of time.
Things needed doing.
He was just the man to get them done.

When he died,
no one mourned his loss.
No one came to the funeral.
No one smiled at a memory of him.

But, everyone agreed
that he was a serious man.

#PoetryFriday - Pain And Delight - Lifecycle

This is a shoutout to everyone in pain today. If you are having a wonderful holiday, that is great. But, always remember that pain is a day away. Death is an inevitability. Enjoy good fortune while you have it; but, never expect it to continue forever. If you are in pain today, always remember that it doesn't last forever. Always know that joy is where you seek it. This week can be a time to reflect on the cycles of life. Sometimes, they are a roller coaster. But, for every high there is a low. Maintain a joyful outlook, no matter where your cycle is today. 

MICROCOSM

He caressed her alabaster skin

attempting to wipe away the pain of her past.

He remembered his own pain.

It invaded the world of passion and love

and moved freely

inside the hearts of lovers.

Like a microbe

it travelled through the blood vessels

mingling with good cells and bad.

Pain grew like a cancer

uncontrollable and spreading everywhere.

Was his love the antidote?

Would it heal?

Would it bring a clean, fresh face in the morning?

He wanted to tell her

that tomorrow would bring freedom

from pain.

He wanted to tell her

that tomorrow would be a good day

to begin the rest of their lives.

He only kissed her

and wiped the tears away.

#PoetryFriday - Rage, Rage, Against The Dying Of The Light.

Wild Men, Good Men, Wise Men, Grave Men.

Today's post about solo practice brought to my mind one of my favorite poems of Dylan Thomas, "Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night". I can hear his voice in my mind's ear, as his poetry is meant to be spoken, and heard. He lived fast, and died young; but, he "lived". Living each day well is a mantra we hear all the time. Keeping death in mind as we do it is an essential part of the mindset required. It is a short poem; but, it will make you think about how you are living your life. Do you rage at it? Will you go out, kicking and screaming, or wait until you see the blinding light of death to really see? Your call.

 

"Do not go gentle into that good night,

Old age should burn and rave at close of day;

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Though wise men at their end know dark is right,

Because their words had forked no lightning they

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright

Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,

And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight

Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.

And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light."

 

Dylan Thomas

#PoetryFriday - What Do You Want For Christmas?

Christmas Gift

As the years passed,
his desires changed.
In the early days
he wanted transportation,
and a Schwinn bicycle was his gift.
It gave him a way to escape,
and his seemingly mundane life
was able to take shape
in changing environments,
as long as he was home before dark.
He grew to want music more,
and a reel to reel tape recorder
was his vehicle
to new worlds
of music captured by radio
and the thin plastic tapes
were his highway to heaven.
When he grew older,
his toys of choice
had four wheels,
and brought him to ball games
and dates,
and were big enough to take him
places that lasted
for months at a time.
But, now he was old,
and his gift took human form,
a relentlessly happy,
smiling,
joyous
woman
who made him realize
that he didn’t want
to go anywhere
anymore.

#PoetryFriday - Christmas Memories.

Christmas Memories.

He remembered Christmas at his grandparents’ house.
The house was small and modest,
but the decorations and games
were always the best.
In a place of honor,
on the wooden console Television,
sat a plastic lighted Rudolph figure
with a red nose.
There was a light bulb in the nose
and a winding crank
that played Rudolph The Red Nosed Reindeer.
There was a Coca-Cola company puzzle,
with a snow covered theme,
always present on the table
in the tiny dining room,
where he ate his grandmother’s fruitcake.
It was magic in his mouth.
His grandfather was up before dawn each morning,
and went to Mass each day
before the sun came up.
He wondered about that,
until he learned that his grandfather had experienced the horror of war,
in the trenches of World War I.
His hearing was gone,
in the cacophony of artillery fire.
They had both lost their only son,
his father
in a military airplane crash,
when he was only 5 years old.
He was blissfully unaware
that they were living with that death,
and their own memories
of two World Wars.
He didn’t remember that,
and didn’t become aware of it
until he was older.
But, Christmas was always
the same for them,
and they celebrated with the children
of a father they no longer could hold.
Rudolph is faded now,
and has a broken tail,
and doesn’t light up
when plugged into a wall.
But, every time he looks at it
on the shelf,
a brightly lit image of it
on an old TV
in a small living room,
sitting with his grandparents
fills his head
with wonder and
memories of happier times,
and the taste of fruitcake,
melting in his mouth.

#TBT - Death Is Nothing To Fear...Mourn And Get On With Your Life.

 

DEATH SHALL HAVE NO DOMINION

I no longer fear death.

I know that you are there

Behind the midnight curtain

Waiting and smiling

Rolling your eyes

laughing at my mistakes

Loving me after all.

No one knows what is on the other side of midnight.

But, I know that you are already there.

That is enough for me.

Do you wear gold and silver there?

Does your golden hair flutter in the breezes there?

Can I touch you there?

Will I be able to get there?

Each day I will live happy

knowing that my destination is assured.

I know that you are, even now, at my shoulder.

You look at me

and know my heart.

I spend my days looking for signs of you.

I see you at the corner.

I see you in every room.

I walk to the car in which you spent much of your time.

I talk to the memories.

They sometimes talk back.

They speak of the past

and the present

and promise me the future.

Your Sunday paper came today

preserved in plastic wrap.

I will think of you as I read it.

I will save the ads for you.

I will put it on your chair.

I will be careful to replace any dust that I disturb.

Does it rain in Heaven?

 

#PoetryFriday - Death Or Life. Choose Your Companion.

Prepare For Death, But Live Your Life.

Put your mask on,
they said, as he entered the store,
and use that sanitizer
by the door.
You need to be careful,
said the flyer posted next to the counter.
The clerk looked like something
out of an alien invasion movie,
wearing a plastic shield
that reflected the light
from the garish fluorescent bulbs
in the ceiling.
He stared at big Xs on the ground,
taped with duct tape
in the color red,
which he supposed meant
it was serious.
Of course, he thought,
it was serious.
Death stalked him every day.
It was one heartbeat away,
or one fall down the stairs,
or one senseless act of violence.
Death was his companion.
He had learned to welcome its breathing
in the night.
Now, death was everywhere.
It screamed at him from the headlines
in the newspaper.
It followed him around,
like a puppy at Christmas.
In the early morning,
death spoke to him,
only after he spent some time
with the coffee.
But, he always knew it was there,
around the corner.
It eyed his wife as well,
speaking under its breath,
with an evil voice
and a muffled rejoinder
about the inevitable suffering
that goes with being human.

As he ran from the store,
ripping the mask from his face,
and screaming in anguish,
he realized that death would be there
anyway.
He resolved to live today
with a better companion.
Life tended to be easier to talk to.
Life was a happier brother in arms.
Life was his present.
His future
would have to take care of itself.