HAIKU

Passion breaks apart

fired in ovens too hot.

Cool love lasts longer.

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LADY RUBY

Credit: AP Photo/ Jacquelyn Martin

Lady Ruby walks with the Ancestors

on paths treacherous and costly;

on paths where the honorable and heroic

stay focused and resolute.

Truth  lights her path amidst the darkness

of hate and fear, and the lies and threats

of political bullies and white supremacists.

Her faithfulness is a shield.

Her resoluteness is a sword

which pierces the veil of dangerous actors

in conspiracies of hot, decaying  breath

constricting her strength but never defeating it.

Lady Ruby walks with the Ancestors.

They lift her up and show us the story long hidden, 

and now threatened to be forbidden,

lest we learn what we need to know 

to perfect our union and ring the freedom bell

for all Americans. This is the story Lady Ruby tells.

Lady Ruby walks with the Ancestors.

Let us walk beside her.

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THE GLEN

The geese know the way

beyond the pond’s gaze

onto paths which cannot contain them

to stay within its bounds.

In formation they travel

stopping traffic in their wake;

Mom in front, goslings next,

and dad takes up the rear.

We all wait.

Then, wait longer.

No horns blare.

We have learned to live in peace

at the speed of geese,

patient with one another

in this small space,

in this neighborhood of grace.    

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SPEAK FOR WOMEN

The women in the suite of 16 students next door ran into my Resident Advisor room without knocking, some in tears, others shouting for my immediate attention. Their suite-mate was lying on the bathroom floor in a pool of blood after returning from the residence hall next door half an hour before, and complaining of pain. She begged them not to get help. They feared they had waited too long. I rushed to her side and shouted to call for an ambulance. Realizing she was hemorrhaging from the vaginal area I pushed towels up against that area trying to stem the flow of blood as she sobbed and begged, “Don’t tell anyone, please.” I went  with the ambulance and waited in the Emergency Room as the doctors and nurses tried to save her life after a butchered abortion. This was the sixth young woman I had tried to save that quarter. That became a pattern. Back then, 1 in 4 female students were victims of rape, not always stranger-rape.

When I was finally allowed to see her, I gained her permission to call her parents whom I knew would want to be at her side. She, like I, was Catholic. She had been raped by her new boyfriend who thought her “NO” was a mere tease when he forced sexual intercourse upon her after “heavy petting”. Her guilty feelings nearly led to her death as she delayed getting medical help. I understood her feelings after 12 years of Catholic school. But, I understood even more profoundly that feelings of guilt are a small price to pay for survival. She agreed. Her parents arrived. We spoke with them together. They forgave her. This suffering victim should have not needed anyone’s forgiveness.

Abortions were illegal then. Women with money, or monied parents with connections, were able to get abortions in private clinics, or by family doctors paid off, or by traveling outside the country. Abortion laws meant nothing to the rich. Abortion laws meant death or maiming to the middle class and poor. To girls with consciences honed smooth by religious training it often meant shameful death. This infuriated me then. It infuriates me now. No one should replace a woman’s conscious choice, her free will, her personal conscience, her control over her ability to survive. Every man has those rights. Women are likewise entitled to those rights.

During my years working in residence halls I helped many young women injured by illegal abortions. Many of the women went to a fellow student who had experience using a clothes hanger to do the job. That’s right, a clothes hanger. Many of these women developed such severe infections they were scarred for life, unable to bear future children, suffering many miscarriages and worse. The entire situation was barbaric.

My church insists on the sanctity of life. I, too, treasure the sanctity of life, the sanctity of all lives including the lives of young women. Who has the right to interfere with her efforts to maintain the sanctity of her own life ? 

I asked our priest when I first learned about abortions  what should a woman do if her life was in danger from a pregnancy. Did she have to die instead of abort a pregnancy ? Did she have a moral right to abort in order to avoid her own death or severe injury? He told me that that kind of decision belonged to the woman and her husband. 

I did not like the part of that answer that placed the woman’s life in her husband’s hands. I had seen enough abuse by husbands and boyfriends in my neighborhood to not trust such decisions to another person. But, I appreciated Father’s position that the woman had a moral right to choose her own life, particularly if she had other children relying upon her. If the mother dies, the family fails, he said. He honored women and the role they play in society. He explained this question did not have a clear answer so had to be between the woman, her doctor, and her family. 

Today, I wonder if that priest would be reprimanded by his Bishop. I hope not. Yet, the American church’s  current moral positions do not allow for such grey areas. Rallies are held at churches. Crosses representing aborted fetuses grace church lawns. Catholic organizers chant outside clinics and harass women seeking help at Planed Parenthood clinics. It is an ugliness no church should sanction, no man of the cloth should approve. Can you imagine Jesus doing so? I cannot. Do these groups attend church sanctioned harassment of military recruiting stations as young persons enlist to go kill other human beings? Killing enemies during war is not a sin I have been told by religious teachers. there are competing moral rights. Are there no longer competing moral rights when women’s wellbeing is at stake?

I knew that relying on the moral teachings by other human beings might not always make sense at my senior year  girls’ silent retreat at a nearby shrine. At the session on human sexuality, the speaker told us that the newly-developed birth control pill worked by destroying the fertilized egg. I knew this was not correct. Birth control pills simply prevented release of an egg by the ovary. So, there was no egg to be fertilized by sperm during sex. One could have sex and not get pregnant. This sounded like a great idea to me. But, relying on this erroneous information became the basis for the church to opine taking birth control pills is a sin in itself. WHAT? “But it does not do that”, I insisted. There is nothing to destroy! there can be no fetus. The speaker insisted I was incorrect. It left me wondering why such lie would be promoted. 

As I explored this topic with other religious pastors of my soul, few acknowledged I was correct about the biology . Those who did so then argued that sex outside marriage is the real sin. Sexual intercourse itself, unless creating new life within the bounds of marriage, is the sin. I asked how a God who created such lovely communion of bodies and souls, when it had no affect on anyone other than the parties involved (so long as the parties had made no vows to others) could be inherently sinful. I never got a good answer. What do these men of God and their parish communities really believe? Or, do they simply fear sex?

Religious arguments are not the point, however meaningful they are to many persons, including myself. The real issue, the only issue, is woman’s right to choose how to live her life, plan her family, protect her health both physical and emotional, do what is best for her other children, and for future children. 

A fetus is not a person by law. Birth is the point when one is considered a person by law. Once laws are changed to recognize a fetus as a person with full legal protections, this will apply to all laws. Lawsuits will be possible against anyone, any company, any organization etc. whose acts affect the fetus. Roe v. Wade only allowed full freedom to women seeking abortion until the fetus they carried would be capable of survival outside the womb. Once that occurred, there are some restrictions on the right to an abortion. The other lie currently in play is that there are routine late-pregnancy abortions. There are not. Roe would not allow it. It only occurs under dire circumstances. 

Still, the woman’s right to survive was protected by Roe. Overturning Roe would overturn a woman’s right to survive. It will be sanctioning injuring, maiming, even killing of women. Because, abortions will not cease. The rich will still get safe abortions. Most women will be in back alleys being butchered.

We cannot quietly watch this happen. Our grand-daughters cannot be allowed to bleed to death and face criminal charges. Those days ended in my lifetime. I cannot silently allow them to resurrect again. Saving our children begins with saving their mothers. 

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History

History is not a resume

Listing only accomplishments.

History is a review of conscience

Considering how to avoid mistakes

Past made; a future planned.

History done right breaks hearts

Imparts hard truths

Demands change.

History is our only hope

For a better future

For real pride in holding accountable

Who we were and what we have done

History allows new beginnings

On different paths

To greater success

Than we can imagine.

Without history we lack the power

To get off the merry-go-round

Which circles back in endless

Rounds going nowhere.

Teach me history.

Tell me the truth.

Show me the honest

Thus only safe

Way forward.

The lies make me dizzy.

I trip on the lies.

I fall behind.

I get angry and fearful

Because I cannot keep up

With the resume stating only part

Of who and what I am.

Another part of me is missing

And I cannot feel whole.

Lies break me apart.

I need a history that demands

A way to balance so I can

Stand for something

Something truly grand

A person accountable

Is a person of account.

Teach me full history. Good and bad.

Let me become that man.

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TESTIMONY OF HEROES?

Nice of you to stop by for a chat.

Heroes? I think not; although,

you would like us to believe it so.

Your ambition still rules my derision

for the complicit decisions

you made to keep in place

a criminal of such disgrace

he had to be impeached twice.

He is more than simply “not nice.”

And you stayed silent for more than four

years of actions deplored

by anyone with a care for humanity.

Sheer insanity was not his alone.

This is something you, too, own.

What if you had gone to the news

with all the facts you  knew ?

Would there have even been a coup?

The blame is not his alone.

It also falls on non-heroic you.

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FAHRENHEIT 100

Another day stowed away

behind blinds and shades.

Temperatures soar in humid waves

as power grids fail day after day.

Brave crews I toast,

working hard as they roast,

laboring on lines to restore

the comfort we take for granted.

For granted, no more

as climate alters patterns of yore.

Excessive heat drenched in storms

with wild winds galore

bearing Earth’s pain on each blow.

Too cold in Winter.Too hot in Summer.

Spring and Autumn lie low.

Earth may be restored;

but, will we remain?

Feel earth’s pain.

It is now our own.

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A SENSE OF HUMOR CAN SAVE THE WORLD

A sense of humor may save us all. One cannot grip a weapon of words or worsewhile laughing. Some of us actually fall down laughing as muscles relax beyond support of our frames, or our frame of mind. It is just too difficult to attack another while laughing, especially if one can laugh at one’s self. The serious-minded sometimes misunderstand such self-effacing laughs. They mistakenly believe one is laughing at them. 

I love to laugh. It stops the fingers from reaching for weapons I carry in my mind’s pocket, the sharp words I can wield like a knife. Better I laugh aloud during an argument than pull out such words and attack. 

This is one reason the entertainers I most respect are comedians. Court jesters who poke the kings and courts of the world to relieve the tensions in their realms allow peace to reign instead. Keep the world laughing and perhaps war will hold its breath.

My Dad was a comedian. Not as a profession, as a personal trait. His silly grin infected anyone who was within its view. Some of his best work was at funerals. I watched him charm the smiles from mourners, restore their joy and fond memories of the deceased. Quietly he worked the room, or the procession of cars halted on busy paths at the cemetery. Walking form car to car he would stop at each one. In moments the car was shaking and passengers’ shoulders chopping up the view with laughing. As soon as he started the laughter he would move on to the next car. Dad was a master of silliness.

Mom lived life as if it were an Italian opera, full of high drama. Dad was the court jester who brought his audience of children to their feet in glee. Mom learned to make that silly grin, too. We all did. We are a family of grinning fools. We learned to never take life’s difficulties seriously, and to seriously dismiss life’s accomplishments as a humorous surprise. 

We were taught to laugh at ourselves. We were taught to admit our human frailty, and view it as a reason for laughter. What a gift from our parents. The gift of not fearing our mistakes, nor fearing to admit them. The ability to sincerely apologize. The ability welcome accountability. The ability to laugh and move on with forgiveness. The ability to openly admit defeat with a smile. The ability to fight our stubborn natures with humor.

I must admit, others often think our wry humorous response to our own mistakes is sarcasm, the lowest form of humor. Sometimes, when our pain is great, the lowest form is all we can muster. I must remind myself to raise the humor up a notch, or two or three. I will never be so good at this as my Dad was. I am too much like Mom and enjoy the Italian opera’s drama, the pull of its force which can mute the humor with tears.  Balance is the most I can hope for, until the laughter destroys my balance and I fall laughing at your feet; knowing if I can make you laugh, too, you cannot stomp me into the dust.

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COLD ANGER

There is a stubbornness

which chills the soul;

no blanket heavy enough

to warm a heart

when words freeze love

dropped by tears into puddles

of remorse and fear

now frozen and slippery

enough to drop lovers

to hard earth and hard truths

which shatter hearts

like frozen glass

hit by rocks of heated rage.

Stubborn hearts, 

stubborn thoughts

in need of greater warmth to thaw.

Heated passion has its place.

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HAIKU

No compromise enough

when guns survive a delay

to kill tomorrow

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