Conform or be Stigmatized

Truly, the ancient sages were wise when they 
placed covetousness among the damned emotions 
motivating humanity against better judgement 
for jealousy and resentment are bred of that 
state of mind and invariably what results does 
no justice to the societal need of the reasonable
social contract that would have us regarding 
others unlike ourselves with perfect equanimity 
and generosity of spirit. Thou shalt not covet
has its place on the tablets of command and
yet we do, for this inheritance is coded into
humanity. Gregarious creatures, we are
anxious to be as like one another as to be
accepted as a clan, all others strange and to
be shunned. Yet even when we are able to
genuinely view others as equals to ourselves
whose flamboyantly visible psyches deviate 
to seek their own sex, insist that what be 
discreet among intimates be visible and 
awarded plaudits, or risk the wretched 
condemnation and persecution they once 
themselves suffered. Cultural heritage 
institutions must now extend beyond serving 
the vast majority of binary pairs to equality 
of recognition in the covenant of the marriage 
bond, and those who will not willingly 
take part in public manifestations of open
sexuality at 'Pride' parades become social 
outcasts in a contradictory reversal of 
social intimidation as cultural outcasts.

 

Irrepressible Malcontents

Yowling and howling with the wretched
injustice of it all, these tender flakes
of humanity represent an anomaly
where it has become evident they have
failed the test of social maturity content
as they are, determined as they are to
remain malcontented juveniles forever.
Like children everywhere who seek to
possess what they see others have
and they not, quick to claim their
rightful ownership of all they covet
scornful at suggestions of civility and
the possibility of sharing so that others'
needs too can be accommodated. For
each and every potential solution to their
pouting pique they dissent with rage
then resort to violence reflecting their
reasoning that if they cannot obtain the
objects of their desire then no one shall
and those who occupy their desire must
pay the penance of death at the hands of
the aggrieved. They have lost the sympathy
of onlookers, the support of nearest kin
for their unreconstructed incorrigibility
has wearied all but themselves, left now
to their usual devices of demonic rage
for their unfulfilled aspirational tyranny
expressed in murderous defiance of
the merest scintilla of human decency.

Nature's Landscape

Nature's unrivalled genius lies not only 
in the unfathomable depth and breadth 
of her invention through timeless creation 
but the minutae of the complex interrelations
each of her creations are imbued with, an
endless chain of existence interdependent and
exquisitely graceful and it is with gratitude 
that her creatures observe the immensity of 
the landscape she has provided for practical 
and aesthetic sustenance. The most minor 
of her creations of no less importance than 
those whose heightened awareness conceits
their sense of consequential primacy. The 
forest is a monochromatic landscape of 
black and white in its winter guise; its floor
steeped deep in snow its trees dark and gaunt
its diurnal creatures stirring at dawn, the 
night-haunting raptors and four-legged 
stealth predators retiring at daybreak. Above 
the canopy an expanse of blue invites high 
flyers while woodpeckers cleanse tall old 
sentry hosts of larvae. Nuthatches and 
companion chickadees flutter here and there
while small furred creatures assiduously
search out seeds; their aquatic counterparts 
shelter under icy streams that meander 
through the forest. The setting sun casts 
fiery fingers lighting the tallest of the forest 
trees until dusk arrives and night falls.

Bored, Are You?

Just so sick and tired of it all, predictable
and unexciting, all the promise in life
doled out to others with half your talent
and personality and it's just so bloody
infuriating. Well, there's this: for quality
excitement, imagine living in a country
whose dictator has spent years bombing
the hell out of people who don't appreciate
his rule. And then there's the suspense of
living in a tiny country surrounded by
other nations prepared to do just about
anything to destroy you and yours aided
and abetted by paramilitaries for whom
there are no rules not meant to be broken.
Right, you skate like the devil and get
that puck past any goalie and on a soccer
field you're the guy to watch. Your charisma
attracts women like monkeys to bananas
but they're not the elite brand and you're
sick of them. You can't afford the thrill
of climbing the Himalaya, much less 
passage to the moon or a trip to see the
melting glaciers on Antarctica. You haven't
experienced a tornado, a tsunami, a flood
volcanic eruption or earthquake. Life
could be a blast, but for you it's a bust and
the best you can hope for is secluding
yourself with video games emulating
war and natural catastrophes but it's just
not good enough and you rage revenge
on life, so who needs it? Life was all so
different in the good old days of pillage
and conquest and rape and destruction, so
much to live for. So, furtively, off you go.

A Light Unto The Nations

In the annals of human lore there are
unique and rare stories whose ancient
origins are located in the mists of time
and this is one of them. This is a story
of humankind whose iteration is endless
one for which there is surely a genesis but
just as surely no limit. It endures in all its
manifestations with no sign of flagging
as it makes its way into the future. It is
not a fable, not a myth, not a folk story
but a repeatable occurrence that no
measurable calamity is capable of stemming
for the cause and the reaction stirs itself to
life without end. It is not exactly a story
of unrequited love, nor is it a story of
human compassion overcoming adversity.
This story is, by any measure, one of
ghastly horrors, of a mass rejection of
the presence of a people upon whom is
visited, era following era, catastrophic
enmity and annihilation. It is a people
among whom the seed of genius has been
generously endowed yet whose purported
character is unfailingly held in contempt.
It is a people for whom hope and a future
is denied but they themselves cling fast.

 

Shoah .... Desolation

Theirs was the voice of anguish and fear 
echoing spiritual disbelief and confusion
in the agony of yet another rejection
murmuring softly their trust betrayed yet
their proud existence as equals in humanity
before finally turning for compassion
abroad for hope was not yet lost though 
the soul was gravely wounded. Their
obedience to a succession of rules meant
to disenfranchise and strip their humanity 
a gradual exercise in humiliation finally 
attaining the greater purpose in a precision 
clockwork of organized cleansing toward 
the goal of national perfection and conquest 
where expunging the impure and inferior 
was the first order of business to restructure 
a world free of Jews. A voice unheard 
calling to a disinterested audience oblivious 
with its deliberation of non-involvement
revealing a vile shared pathology. A lifetime
later the genocidal perpetrators profess
profound regret, their global audience
applauds and the sinister venom of hatred
that fuelled that genocide is once again
abroad in the resurgent world community.

 

Look to Yourself

We are so besotted with ourselves
wallowing in the certainty that we
are unique, none others that live
or have ever lived, or will live
can possibly be as we are. Our
every experience, emotion and
reaction is ours and ours alone. It
is as though our creatrix took endless
time, and thought and effort to pursue
a blueprint ours alone that no other
could conceivably possess. Our
shallow conceit speaks to our love
of self in a way that is never
extended outward to encompass
humanity at large which surely
has its own argument, each and
every one of their own enriched
passions and perceptions that none
others can emulate for it is beyond
their abilities. All of which enable us
to look with covert disdain on all
others though a genius once took
pains to message us all through words
and sentiments of immortal value.
I am a Jew. Hath not a Jew eyes? 
Hath not a Jew hands, organs, 
dimensions, senses, affections, 
passions; fed with the same food, 
hurt with the same weapons, 
subject to the same diseases, 
healed by the same means, warmed 
and cooled by the same winter and 
summer as a Christian is? If you 
prick us do we not bleed? 
If you tickle us do we not laugh? 
If you poison us do we not die? 
And if you wrong us shall we not 
revenge? If we are like you in 
the rest, we will resemble you 
in that. If a Jew wrong a Christian,
 what is his humility? Revenge. 
If a Christian wrong a Jew, what 
should his sufferance be by Christian 
example? Why, revenge. The 
villainy you teach me I will execute,
 and it shall go hard but I 
will better the instruction.

Heritage, Tradition, Culture

There is much reason to look back in time
with awe at the peak of civilizational, artistic
philosophical, scientific and inventive genius
of a multitudinous people of the ancient past
when the Middle Kingdom presided over
the East as an example of what the human
mind could aspire toward and the aesthetic
appeal of perfection in art when exquisite
scrolls brushed philosophical formulae for a
millennium of outstanding achievements in all
fields of human endeavour. Today we look back
with veneration at the fine creative intelligence
the invaluable lessons, the artifacts of grace and
beauty, and marvel. Archeology had dusted
away the accumulated detritus of time to
reveal peerless porcelains and jades, strategic
military formulae, terracotta armies, a great
wall able to withstand siege, administrative
genius based on merit alone and infinitely
more, revealing that ancient place of history
so at odds with its current iteration where
tradition and heritage are scorned in favour
of a brave new world of government monopoly
with an irresistible drive to mercantile power
and political conquest bypassing the values
of yore exemplified by thriving open markets
to feed the limitless population in varied
metropolises catering to China's vast appetite
to consume all that nature has given life to.

In The Pre-Dusk Woods

In the final analysis the peculiar event
may come down simply to suggestibility
as in how susceptible you may be to unseen
but suspected creatures stalking you for
purposes known not only to its own natural
predation heritage but narratives dispensed by
others of personal worrying confrontations 
as well as news that such attacks have had
devastating consequences for those whose
devoted canine companions have sensed
danger and sprung to their humans' defense
sacrificing themselves to the jaws and claws
of creatures of the wild acting on compulsion
of their own survival. You are nervous and
wary, walking through the icy winter forest
trails impressed on the deep snow leading off
pathways into the denseness of the interior
where evening dusk is yet to creep its presence.
With you are two small dependent leashed
dogs who suddenly begin a hysterical chorus
of barks at the approach of a large and well
behaved dog and a woman with whom you
exchange cordial greetings and advise her
of the daytime presence of coyotes in the
wooded ravine you are both traversing. The
dogs leap and frolic and are suddenly stiff
while a movement off the side, furtive, quiet
captures your eye as you think you see a 
tall, lean, grey creature sidling behind a
copse of trees, startled by the fuss; another
on the opposite side, as you incredulously
convince yourself that what you see is what
is occurring then and there. And suddenly not.

The Setting Sun

Today's is a hostile wind rousting
and howling through the naked tree
tops of the winter forest canopy.
At this season when half the world
is in mourning for the death of nature's
green growth and the other half of the
world celebrates its luxuriant blooms
memory grows dim in recalling the
brilliant colour that winter has banished
from the landscape, arrogating its reign
preferential in its exquisite presentation
of white, silver and black abolishing
the rainbow-array of dazzling shades
so luminous they inspire birds to sing
paeans to the growing seasons. The
bitter cold, with its knife-edge sharpness
the wind volunteers absorbs the glitter
of snow enthralling as the landscape
becomes. Until nature bestows day's
end with the glorious vision of the
setting sun's rays penetrating the dense
forest, setting dark trees aflame prefacing
the entrance of a short day's dusk.

 

Exhibitionism's Grandeur

This child whose face is perpetually grimed
in a paroxysm of rage will never win a beauty
contest nor be credited with a sweet demeanor
but she has become immensely popular as one
with an aggrieved message to deliver in a
manner quite congruent with her pathology on
the autism spectrum of oppositional defiant
disorder, despising authority so redolent of
adolescent juveniles' resentment of adults'
positioning themselves as authoritarian in the
belief they have the right to regulate children's 
behaviour. Children invest much in their gleeful
assertions that it is adults with their lack of vision
who have disrupted nature's unblemished accounts.
What a different world we now inhabit than might 
have been imagined a half-century ago when 
parents felt assured of the sex revelation of
their offspring at birth, to the very present 
when what you see is not necessarily what you
believe with gender dysphoria representing yet
another life-disruptive issue in the social order
pitting progressive authority against the mere
status of parenthood. Long years past people
were aware of quaintly rare anomalies such as
hermaphroditism and homosexuality and the
attraction to transvestism as an entertaining
novelty, before an entire championship and
celebrated industry arose embracing the 
new reality of errant humanity's fascination 
with the dazzling display of nature's occasional 
deviation from the boring irrelevant ordinary.

 

Oh Unhappy Fate

What's a prince of the House of Windsor
to do when his grandma is so mean to him?
The covenant as he knows it, is shattered
and it is nought to do with him. Bred in
his purple blood he knows his royal
prerogatives. Where now can he turn
betrayed by all but those entranced by
his free-wheeling celebrity? To that manner
born was he, inherited from the mum whose
absence he mourns. A thespian he, with a
penchant for costumery and Tomfoolery
for whom the forbidden held an estimable
attraction as he raged against conformity
and basked in the glare of publicity gaining
admiration from rank commoners' penchant
in aversion from social niceties. Suffering
the ultimate pathology of love and hate in
his dodgy connection with a public passion
for royal disgraces he has, like another
sought to right royally bring discomfort
to the royal family. Yet he has matured, the
impish non-conformist become a family
man, discovering a persona so alike that
of the mum he lost; addicted to attention
serene in her ego, tempting the paparazzo
while railing against loss of privacy, poor
soul. How traumatic to finally discover that
though entitled, he does not make the rules
to do as he wishes while retaining titles and
 public largesse. So what then is a prince to 
do downgraded to junior Duke and Duchess?

 

National Dilemmas

  Photograph: Sombo Sombo/Alamy

National Dilemmas

In poverty-stricken countries of the world
which we may no longer refer to as Third World 
countries but rather make full use of the 
euphemism 'emerging economies', there is one 
inexhaustible natural resource the envy of 
First World economic nations; the growth
steady and reliable, of their populations where 
the natural increase grows and grows despite 
privation, food scarcity, joblessness and lack 
of medical care and the unfortunate loss of life 
accompanying those lacks. In those countries 
governed either by incompetents or a hierarchy 
of privileged elites for whom nothing of concrete
value lacks, the great unwashed for whom 
sanitation, potable water, basic foodstuffs, power
and health care remain beyond imagination it's 
live or perish as fortune rolls her die, and  hope 
is lost. Yet wealthy nations grapple with their
confounding statistics that emphasize population 
replacement expectations remain mysteriously 
misplaced for as the aged die, fewer are born to 
replace them. This, even as administrations enact
legislation and expend treasury to enhance
the prospect of child-bearing, offering measures
inconceivable to those others, even while
residents of wealthy nations sneer at their
subsidies, the child care provisions, the health
care, the paid parental leave, as insufficient
in depth and quantity as a persuasive gambit.

 

Where Are You?

They're there, simply there, though not
often seen when geography creates distance.
A vague acknowledgement that one has
sisters and brothers that time has
distanced. Absence makes memory
fainter, not necessarily fonder and little
time and emotion is harnessed to stray
thoughts of their lack of presence, despite
early shared familial experiences.

Yet, as we age and our lives move ever
yet tangentially, there arises the piquant
sadness of longing for something lost and
neglected. With age comes illness and
emotional deprivations; the realization
that we are alone, the inspiration to
re-discover lost siblings, the urge and
the spur to act, to reach out, to recover.

Shared blood and belonging now entreats
the elderly to reach back in time and
memory, to find that elusive comfort, the
mutual sympathy siblings harbour for one
another as they move inexorably toward
life's concluding stages. The instant grasping
of rapport re-visited, the tenderness, the
unspoken grief and gratitude, all there,
awaiting that call to rescind distance
and emotional wavering of uncertainty.

There is much to say, to express, to
commiserate with, to update and to pledge
for the future. To casually, carelessly lose
grasp of those binding ties an error in
judgement reflecting bereft values and a life
too concerned with surface issues of scant
moment. To restore the loss requires a
simple resolution: I am here, where are you?
Please, meet me half way to our future. 

 

 

Beware The Urban Forest

They are sagacious creatures, bold and
masters of strategy as befits those of
the animal kingdom's predators. Much
after all, depends on their practised
hunting habits, for in their ancestral
habitat they maintain a balance in the
presence of creatures they stalk. They
are also particularly adaptable, since
their once-wild geography was invaded
and with little interest in seeking refuge
from interlopers they have become
extremely skilled at slinking about in
the background making full use of the
same green spaces so valued by other
animal species including man. Human
habitation in close proximity to those
natural places where they can den and
procreate is of little account for they
are also adept at scavenging albeit not
preferentially. Their appearance is
similar to that of the dogs that people
walk in natural settings, oblivious to
the presence of untamed canids though
the dogs detect their presence alerting
themselves that long-distance cousins
are about, seldom imagining themselves
prey. Silently lurk the coyotes awaiting
opportunities; one offering the prospect
of play-time friendly dogs are eager to
indulge in, unaware that others unseen
follow behind fully prepared for action.



 

I Think, Therefore I Am

What peculiar quirks nature has devised in
her impeccable creation, endowing me and
thee with consciousness, awareness, the
capacity to think and to plan, to imagine and
to theorize, exercising cerebral function as
though we are not merely one with nature
but perhaps nature itself. As a powerful
instrument forever challenging understanding
of what, where and how we fit into the world
around us, and how that world exists in a vast
constellation of other worlds, of stars and volatile
gases and minerals revolving and evolving our
thought processes explore the vastness of the
unknown, theorizing and experimenting as
though we were not ourselves merely the dust
of exploding stars but the creator of all that
exists. Imagine this: theoretical physicists
studying quantum mechanics play with the
notion of the unknown of creation and its
sister existence in the wan belief that what
we think of as consciousness is but an illusion
as is the world we inhabit, ourselves included
for without our observance creating that
presence it would not, perforce exist. Really.

Oppression, Persecution, Revolt

Tyrannical rulers invent the rules of their
realm starting with their reliance that those
whose lives they dictate meekly defer to
those with state power knowing full well
the default of inevitable arrest, imprisonment
torture and death declaring them enemies of
the state. Should an almighty deity be invoked
as proof the tyrants are vested with godly
authority, all the greater obeisance and
obedience follows. But even the oppressed
and the downtrodden will recognize limits
to their despairing conditions when resignation
impulsively transforms into viral outrage, their
humiliation and powerlessness sparks into
flaming dissent and a mass revolt erupts
when one and then another domestic atrocity
too many leaves them reeling in disbelief
at the excess of inhumanity they are subjected
to with casual ease. Then, the tide turns when
the tyrants understand the power of numbers
reflecting an unstoppable tide of rejection
and a universal call for the regime's downfall.
Initial brutality, the swift response to quell the
riots fail, leaving the rulers to quail in dismay
offer profound apologies, promise reform in
deference to the peoples' wishes but nothing 
can now defuse the volcanic eruption of human
grief and rage prepared to destroy those whose
preoccupation has too long been the ultimate
challenge of vanquishing the human spirit.

To The Manor Borne

Royalty knows its place, one like none
other; where once it was the masses that
served their imperial highnesses modernity
has decreed that now those of high royal
birth whose status remains funded by the
great public, now serve the masses and the
greater interests of society, a society unable
to expunge from its imagination nobility's
vaunted presence celebrating high birth's
unique place in societies priding themselves
on egalitarian progressiveness. Royal
houses seek to find favour increasingly
by appearing as one of the masses they so
ably represent, accepting they are but human
albeit of a gilded variety, and eager to curry
favour of those taxed to fund a sumptuous
lifestyle burdened with public service, no longer
seek out those of extended royal blood for
marriage. Youthful iterations of nobility
search out their own choices and invariably
introduce their royal forbears to commoners
of heart-stealing virtue. Alas, genetics impinge
and those to the manner born in superior
self-regard scorn tradition and the trappings
of royalty, sending head-spinning messages
of rejection as  they indulge in lese-majeste.

 

 

The Urban Wilderness

It was a natural wilderness seldom
penetrated, a large, extended gash in
the earth, a thickly forested landscape
surrounded by farms on land long
settled and arable aside from the 
resistant geology of the ravine. Urban
sprawl displaced the farms but nothing
could displace the ravine and the forest
and the water coursing through the ravine
floor. In that forest groundbirds flourished
alongside a panoply of small furry
creatures and predators both winged
and furred. As houses were built on the
ravine's perimeter migratory corridors
closed and deer became scarce though
more adaptable creatures remained
cherishing an extended food source
cadged from human waste. Residents of
nearby neighbourhoods valued the forest
a recreational haven where dogs could be
free to spurt into the forest interior and
emerge exercised and happy. Foxes and
raccoons abounded alongside smaller fry
until the abundance of wildlife contracted
when coyotes adopted the habitat treasured
by all. Now, companion dogs' exquisitely
sensitive detection senses are on alert
quietly detecting the presence of alpha
predators bold enough to confront both
dogs and their walkers confident in their
natural rights in this still-wild haven.

Tell Me This

If all the world's a stage, good bard and  
we play out our lives in hopes and fears
the drama's on us, whether it be the
sadness imposed when ill fate becomes
us or the joy that ensues when good
fortune beams its best our way. We
aspire and trust, anticipate and forge
a future as best we can never knowing
the outcome as actors on life's stage.
So if life is a theatre of happenstance
in our waking hours what then is
sleep when our subconscious elevates
our minds to another dimension always
familiar, sometimes fraught and very
occasionally brimming with happy
intimates. To sleep, perchance to
dream, and we do, hoping that we may
bypass the demons haunting our psyches
in favour of the gentleness of love and
nostalgia in the understanding that life
is prelude to eternal dreams. Unless
of course dreams are the entry to life?
Tell me do, can we enjoy one lacking
the presence of the mysterious other?

Mistress of the Garden

Mistress of the Garden

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The gardens, muted of colour
form, texture, fragrance
are now a collapsed
architecture, delighting us
no longer as fall deepens
into garden-bleak winter.

Gone the thriving, brilliant
choreography, the boundless
exuberance of bulbs and tubers
bursting into flower, the shrubs
and fruit trees showering petals
transformed into luscious fruit.

The garden now is pallid,
exhausted, its summer audition
long past, the chorus of blooms
extinguished, no encores as the
final departure of leafy canopy
has descended echoing dismay.

The curtain is prepared now to fall.
The last bow and curtsy executed
as nature asserts sovereignty.
Casually deflects assumptions our
efforts reflected ownership
of carefully plotted, nurtured
triumphant gardenscapes.

There is no perpetuity here, merely
the gardener's eccentricity in believing
she exerted control over the order of
her gardening efforts. A brief, illusory
delusion, a borrowed vision, a hallowed
trust now returned to nature
and winter's ascendancy.