Whiz

Do not imagine how it ought to be
Except to help you manage how it is.
That's not to say don't wish, don't hope, don't see
The better world: the cheese to our cheese whiz.
But to insist the cheese whiz you possess
Is edible, and still a tasty treat.
It will not help to whinily obsess
Upon the cheese you wish you had to eat.
Plan shopping better in the future? Sure!
Feel free to keep your fridge stocked up with cheese
But while you do that, do not then demure
From letting what you have right now still please.
The aging cheddar of a brighter day
Should not destroy the pleasure of cheese spray.

Union

We cannot grow our worlds in petri dishes
Each individual and set apart.
No more can we determine them by wishes
As needs no telling to a broken heart.
We live together in a common space
A culture we both constitute and share
(Although it would be false upon the face
To claim we all are thus made equal there).
Within this common world, make common cause
For only we together can make change:
Our social rules are not eternal laws
And though mere wishes may not rearrange
Our world, collective common action can
And has, since first this common world began.

Relative Rights

If you want to be a cop

You have to be the bigger man

(Even at a traffic stop).

You take risks so others can

Enjoy their life and liberty;

Which means you do not get to claim

Your own safety's supremacy

Above the public's. Oh, for shame!

To say your fear lets you deprive

Another's rights, or shoot to kill

When you have promised all to strive

For their protection, come what will.

Your honor comes precisely from

Defending them and their freedom.

Calvin and Hobbesism

My dog, I fear, is not of the elect.
Not that she lacks good works (although she does)
For those who value them are not correct
False as the famed Iscariot once was
But rather for her failure (evermore)
To show contrition. A remorseful heart,
Aware of sin, and with that sin selfsore,
Not fearful of the danger or the smart,
But truly inward full of vital grace
Would be sufficient, but it is not there.
She has no sorrow in her inward place
And only cringes from a sudden scare.
Therefore, although a wonderful playmate
I know my dog to be a reprobate.

Forecast

Grey clouds circle, or they seem to do,
Which should depress me, but it's February
And grey clouds won't do more than rain on you
While circling, for all it might seem scary,
Means somewhere up there must be some blue sky.
The sun may not be visible, but so?
Unless the physics I was taught's a lie,
I can trust it will persist to glow
Without my checking in. The day is dim,
And will, I must expect, be damp as well,
But dark and wet alone won't make it grim.
Only I do that. And I can tell
This has the makings of a better day
For all the clouds above are dressed in grey.

Esteem

I can't imagine what my life would be
Without her in it. What would it entail?
I'm sure in some way I would still be me,
But like a me that's been reduced for sale,
Musty and unused. All of the fire
That burns inside would choke on its own flame
Banking itself til every last desire
Was burnt away. The residue? A name,
A body,  and some habits. But the whole
The me I am or like to think I am,
The present part of my eternal soul
Would be a lesser being,  or a sham.
So since my self-esteem commands, I say
I'm glad she's here, so I am here today.

Privilege

"The light
That shines
Is bright"
He whines
While those
Less lit
Suppose
That it
Must be
A ball
To see
At all:
"Please dim"
For him.

Applause

I learned some ways to tell someone "well done"--
A "brava" here; perhaps a well-placed clap,
A gracious smile, or judicious snap,
If silence was required; or if one
Wished to bro it up, a finger-gun,
A chest-bump, or a hug and triple-slap.
I now believe those methods were a trap,
Designed to steal the spotlight and the sun.
The best acknowledgement I am now convinced
Is deep attention that does not distract
And simple plain expression of the same.
This shows, not tells, the feelings thus evinced,
Subsuming declaration in the act
And giving it reality, not name.

Dwindling

The days unmarked flow by, the nights forgot;
The rhythm only of the world remains.
I do what I have done. It's not a lot.
The season does not call for many brains,
So mine just disengages as we slide
Slowly out of December. Snow piles high.
And we beneath it simply must abide
Waiting for some cessation in the sky.
The clouds roll by uncaring of below
The sun shines down, but does not warm the day
Which oozes itself out, viscously slow
In shades of white, offwhite, and almost-gray.
Each moment blends together, and each year
Why one should end, one start, is still unclear.

Global Warming

The cold wet season comes around again
And I am tired. All of us are tired.
The only thought in all our minds is when
The snow will melt. So ardently desired
Is this far moment, you would think the heat
Of all that longing would have brought it on.
But all our wishes cannot yet unseat
The winter from its place. Yet it will be gone.
And since we hate the snow, we find it hard
To realize how awful it would be
If we up north could tend a green, clear yard
All winter long. That possibility
Seems wonderful, until our minds recall
The horror of hot summer, spring, and fall.