The Indispensable Untouchables

They're certainly there, but not there at all

that vast army of essential workers. For the

analogy of a tree falling in the forest with no one

to hear or see the event does it happen? 

applies to these unseen, unheard, silent people 

performing menial tasks no self-respecting 

educated class would stoop to in a society 

valuing intellectual prowess while devaluing 

fundamental services required as critical 

mainstays of society. The situation requiring 

self-abnegation of those who willingly offer 

themselves as bulwarks marks them as trees 

without which a forest fails to exist. Such vital

services without which an assured collapse would 

result yet held in low esteem as evidenced by the

pitiful pay scale ceded to the rank and file of school 

custodians, farm workers, office cleaners, hotel 

maids, personal service providers, forestry workers

early childhood educators, slaughterhouse employees 

from whom integrity, care and professional skills 

are demanded to enable society to function and yet 

with a dearth of conscience are offered a pittance

barely sufficient to enable this army to survive

they who represent the scaffolding of society.

Last Rose of Summer

You can fool some of the people some

of the time, but others take notice that

enticements are meant to forestall critics

whose moans of entitlement give way to

a purposeful feint from the most practised

and powerful of forces as she performs her

age-old pantomime of conciliation to charm

and beguile. The prospect of the inevitable

sits poorly with the spiritual descendants 

of ancient Greece's Demeter where the ascent

into winter was analogous to a descent into

the underworld, a hellish place where the

bounty and beauty of earth's growing things

are subsumed when ice and snow defeat their

defences. Nature devises brief compensations

meant to allay fear and resentment in her

dispirited critics coaxing into bloom retiring 

roses to pacify the grief and console the misery 

of gardeners left without purpose and joy. Her

resonating message : once again next year. 

Because ... It's There?

 

They be restless, inquisitive, driven and hardy souls

their search endless and riven with danger that 

only experience can adequately delineate. The 

volcanologist, maritime and geology explorer

the mountaineer and the pioneer space traveler 

share that indisputable human quality quantitatively 

rare and profoundly treacherous to human longevity. 

Why risk immersing oneself in a submersible deep

in the Mariana Trench in the knowledge that should

the potential vulnerability of the sphere be breached

the fiercely immense pressure of water risks oblivion. 

The fire burning in the ambition of mariners to 

single-handedly circumnavigate the globe through 

the Southern Ocean route where the most brutal 

storms on this blue planet can build waves that 

would engulf the height of a skyscraper amidst

winds capable of dismantling the most robust of 

ships threaten, fail to dissuade the restless minds 

wedded to success. And nor do the threats inherent

in tackling the world's highest most inaccessible peaks 

where gale-force storms can bury a mountainside 

in snow and ice higher than a man is tall and where

oxygen-deprived brains suffering deadly hypoxia 

leading to death, influence the decisions of those 

with faith in themselves contemplating conquest.

The Forest Sleeps

 

All is still. Little wind rustles the leaves of the 

forest canopy. A large feathered head swivels

eyes fixed here, then there, alert for rustling

as the raptor waits. The crows that harass it

mobbing and chorusing their hatred sleep. All

is still. No daytime sounds intrude as the forest

sleeps, its trees deep in slumber as it begins the

inevitable transition into fall. The bright eyes of

raccoons quietly search the stream undulating

through the forest for aquatic mollusks, their

clever hands selecting morsels now and again

attest to the sleeping forest that does not rest. In

their dens foxes sleep but coyotes prowl in their

nocturnal search for prey. Small furred creatures

do not venture from their nested dens, oblivious

in sleep. Nuthatches and chickadees whisper and

fluff their feathers renewing energy for another day.

Nighthawks circling on high whistle their mission.

 

Invoking the Landlord Tenant Act

 

The rightful owner of the domicile in

question certainly cannot be accused of

overstating her contention that the renters

have by their wanton acts diminished the

most prominent characteristics of what makes

the accommodation they have long considered

theirs to do with as they wish, diminished

from its once-pristine design and beauty.

And so the owner has taken dramatic steps

to punish those who defy the injunctions she

has imposed to turn them from their profligate

waste of her resources in respect of their true

position as renters obliged to take care with

treatment of property not their own. These

lodgers disregarded all orders to cease and

desist leaving the owner little option but to

invoke her punishment clause, to which end 

she instructed her loyal servants to acts of

rebellion aimed squarely at those ignoring

their mistresses' cautions. Tornadoes, volcanic

eruptions, earthquakes, tsunamis, all to little

avail, persuading nature to intervene when 

others of her creatures were harassed, imposing 

on her ungrateful renters the penalty of a global

pandemic to focus the collective errant minds.

How Could You?

Arising from a legacy of unspeakable torment and 

suffering Blacks out of Africa have emerged on 

the continents to which they were taken as

commodities to be exploited as people horribly 

wronged in history to the present day. And from 

their ranks have arisen people of remarkable courage 

and tenacity with a will to live outstanding lives of 

accomplishment, moral fortitude and wisdom 

whose numbers are overwhelmed by those of 

their community but not of their culture whose 

preference is to remain victims lashing out at the 

society that made them so yet unwilling to rise 

above the status they have been relegated to

spurning the values their civilized elite naturally

assume in favour of competing against one another 

in a dismal game of asocial criminality, a life 

of profit through drugs, guns, and gangs preying

themselves on their own communities, the larger

community viewing them as unfit for company

other than penal incarceration. How then not to 

commiserate with the plight of the downtrodden

not to evince compassion for the forfeit lives

the dread outcome of crime and suspicion leading 

to death? On the other hand, compassion dies 

when untamed fury violently and viciously 

programs itself to smash all vestiges of order

defiance of law, rushing to loot and destroy 

while calling on the wider community to join 

the fray dividing a nation that looks on in dismay 

and misery as lives that matter methodically

destroy empathetic determination to transform

fear and distrust to equality, lost in a bewildering 

display of street anarchy, hoodlums out for blood.

 

 

Speciesism

 

Idle thoughts of an idle mind turn to

plumbing the depths of introspection

incited by the random sight of a sign

reading 'Husky for sale' eliciting a sharp

intake of breath for of course dogs are

sold and they are bought as commodities

chosen by those for whom companionship

of another animal speaks to the quality

of their lives. A transaction from owner

to purchaser, one surrendering a possession

the other acquiring that very same possession.

Soul for sale. For if we have souls so too do

they. And consider this: would we sell a

two-year-old child? Dogs gain the intelligence

as they mature of a human child; moreover

they have the capacity to interpret our moods

they build a dictionary of human words, they

anticipate us, they befriend us for life and

we depend upon their loyalty and their love.

To look into someone's eyes is to look deep

and make communion with another soul.

Expatriates

 

One tends to scoff hearing of that old

platitude 'love at first sight', but this is

something I know of first-hand for at first

sight I fell in love. One hears of such as

when living abroad an irresistible attraction

to a resident of a strange culture occurs

one is smitten and love blooms. As it did

with me. I purchased the object of my desire

and planted it in the tiny garden of the house

where I lived in that Far East locale. There

it grew, nourished by my tender care and its

blooms were cherished so dear to my heart.

Living now in my native land vastly more

accommodating to an extensive garden that

same plant cultivated for residence in a far

more demanding landscape of harsh winters

whispers its distress as I solace it with all the

enhanced care I can muster, yet it deigns not

to bloom even at risk of sundering our mutual

romance. Finally, it relented taking pity on my

shattered heart, opening wide its petals to

ravish my eyes and palpitating heart, at long

last accommodating itself to an exotic locale.

 

Imagine That!

 

Imagine you decide on the spur it's time to 

get away again, break out of routine newly 

established working remotely in isolation 

and you casually consider what you'll need 

for a three-day alpine camping expedition

put everything together snugly in your

backpack including that small stove. water

purifier and the lightweight tent and next 

morning you leave for the three-hour drive. 

This time a different alpine lake in the range

of mountains stretching across the horizon 

where you scramble to the connecting ridge 

and there's the lake, beside it a small alpine 

meadow. You establish camp, view a gloriously 

radiant sunset, hear the whistle of pikas, cool 

night air moving in, as the steady drip of a 

melting glacier spilling into the lake lulls you

to sleep. It's glorious end-of-summer weather

sun and cloud, perfect for forays over to other

peaks where old seracs crumbling on the granite

sit as picturesquely as the ptarmigan shuffling

its way along the rotted snow and ice. That

night there are no stars. You awaken in the 

wee hours to thunder, and count the lapsed

seconds between each, figure it's ten miles

distant, and look across the valley to other

summits where angry dark clouds dangle and

lightning illuminates the sky. Dark grey smoke

rises, and you fall asleep. In the morning a

broad area of smoke rises from a wildfire

below the treeline, and you pack up your gear.

Quite the landscape that is, remote with never

ending summits as far as the eye can see, a

place of granite and alpine vegetation, tiny

flowers in bloom, eagles in flight, a landscape

that many consider desolate beyond a human

scale, and it can be; vast, impenetrable.

Letter to a Grandchild

 

 

 

 

 

Hello, dear, it's good to hear from you. 

Strange, because I was just thinking of you.

Mind, I do that every day. Thinking how nice

it would be to hear from you. I know, I know;

I would say that. I would also say it's so nice

that you wrote so expansively. And how much

I appreciate that your grammar and spelling are

perfect, not at all the kind of missive so commonly

sent nowadays in the 'relaxed' atmosphere of

email. Your meal-preparation exploits are

admirable. Where on Earth do you ever get

those exotic ingredients? Yes, it makes me sad

too to know that so many dog rescues cannot be

placed; life can be so cruel to vulnerable creatures.

Good grief, that must have been quite the experience

witnessing the formation of a funnel cloud. Just

as well you and your mother drove away speedily.

So nice to hear that your rescue dog has met all

your expectations. We live in difficult times, I know.

Your plans to return to university upended suddenly

and no one knowing what the outcome will be.

No, nothing interesting happening here, just day

by day, our usual familiar routine and that's just

fine with us. Write again as soon as you can, dear.

Yes, I know, I know, I would say that. I would also

say, beloved child how much we love you. Be well.

She's Gone, He's Smiling

One of those socially awkward moments

as a tall, angular man, face as white as his hair

walks up the street in your direction, smiling

and you think 'should I know him?' and smile

in return, his face familiar and yet not familiar

until you realize it's a neighbour who lives 

halfway down the street who when you canvassed

for charitable causes rebuffed you always until

one time he rebuked you for not speaking to

him in French in an officially bilingual country.

The very same man who for years following you

would see slowly walking beside a frail woman

pushing a walker before her in all weathers who

would stop to gaze longingly at your little dogs as

you too walked up the street, cooing 'aren't they cute'

in unaccented English. Then you and she would

briefly exchange pleasantries and both walk on.

It occurred to you lately you no longer see them

on the street, then the thought vanished. But today

there he was, not scowling as usual but smiling

walking on his own, no longer with his wife and

beaming and you wonder what occasioned this

altered judgement and whether this means a truce.

Perpetual Twilight

On the grassy margins of the forest flourish

wildflowers glowing brightly in the sun

where soft-fruit-bearing shrubs proliferate

then give way to the dark trunks of pine

and oak, spruce and maple, relieved by

the presence of birch and poplar where the

forest interior is engulfed in perpetual twilight

the masts of old forest giants like mountain

peaks supporting clouds, place a lid on the

forest through which sun and rain struggle

to penetrate. An interior space like a great

cathedral dedicated to nature, reserved and

peaceful, dimly lit sheltering creatures of the

soil, the air and the waterway lazily coursing

its way through forest to sea. A murder of crows

gathers to harass an owl, age-old adversaries

while nuthatches accompany chickadees on

their forays through hemlock boughs even as

small furry creatures scurry frantically to gather

nuts and seeds against oncoming winter when

the dusky interior will become bright with snow

humping old tree stumps like ghosts returned.

The Pendulum Swings

No more can you compensate a deprived

people from their bereavement of hundreds

of years of enslavement, deprivation and

discrimination than will nature reverse the

endowments she has gifted to humanity

of traits and emotions both useful to their

possessors and of harm to others but through

the deliberate and painstaking reversal of 

institutionalized denials of human rights to

restore both civilizational merits and dignity

of the person with calm intent. In the process

unleashing the poignancy of victim-pain finally

recognized, culminating in blind resentment

and blame, for once the admission of fault and

the intention to repent are clear, vulnerability

looms near. So was born Black Lives Matter, a

declaration both defiant and pleading yet one

that has been transformed into a raging clarion

of recrimination turning the fury of the wronged

into an inchoate mob intent on tweaking guilt

and shame upon all those not like themselves

wreaking havoc through violent excesses in a 

mirror reflection of past suffering as gangs

gather motivated by vengeance and the urge to

wreak chaos as they march on a mission of 

exacting 'reparations' entitling them to plunder 

and physically violate all those identified as

hostile to their wholesale rejection of civility.

 

 

The Court of Public Opinion

They are called social platforms providing the structure 

for the public to air their views on everything that matters

to them be it the vaunted lifestyles of celebrity figures or

collective spitting outrage at the latest political malfeasance 

brought by the auspices of the elected entitled. There, 

admiration and envy, spite and malice in equal measure 

meet up with gracious consideration for others where 

sharing experiences and expectations draw those of

gentle like mind to commiserate and proffer hope 

for a turn of fortune for the stricken, glad that it is

someone else suffering the limitless malfunctions and 

misfortunes Dame Fortune has in her infinite portfolio.

These can be constructive learning situations as well

teaching participants to be wary of setting off a firestorm 

of condemnation from the righteous and sanctimonious 

whose opinions derive from a delusional belief

that they have the requisite wisdom and faculties in 

communication skills to be generously endowed 

upon the great ignoramuses of the world they deign

to notice and move swiftly to correct, in essence a 

warning to all and sundry to become more circumspect 

in the free delivery of opinion. A caution that will go

brusquely ignored by those managing that unique social

scaffolding to pursue the passion of their hatred, the

manifold conspiracy theories, the wrongs that the world

imposes on them and those whose victimhood they champion.

Never Again -- We Are All Aryans

Oh, the malicious irony that a furiously demented 

national leader who imposed a fascist death cult

ideology on an agreeable population convincing

them of their extraordinary status as Ubermenschen

persuading them of the necessity of destroying

the lives of the Untermensch among them while

succeeding in annihilating six million European

Jews whose global numbers have not yet recovered 

from the perpetration of the Holocaust would find

pleasure in the new and improved Germany. The 

Historical Third Reich remains a dread reminder of

the excesses of Jew hatred brought to a final solution.

What irony: the new humanitarian Germany now 

hosts a population of Semites in the guise of Arab

and other Muslim refugees fleeing conflict in

search of haven, numbering in total six million

by strange coincidence. Now settled within the

country that sought to destroy world Jewry are 

hordes of those who find that savage ideology to 

their liking as they slander and pursue, persecute

vilify the remaindered Jews still living in the new

and improved Germany which subscribes to that

post-war declaration an aghast world promised on

scenes of released emaciated survivors of slave

labour, privation and death camps: Never Again.

Uncompromising Garden Thugs

 

Their sunny disposition and pleasant

appearance make them a favourite of

many who consider themselves wise

connoisseurs of beauty and such quirks

as appearing only in the morning hours

retreating shyly once afternoon has arrived.

But there is nothing shy about them as I

discovered having once invited them

to my home for a visit conditional upon

leaving in due time. With winter due

time arrived and they departed. Little did

I know that for years to follow my visitors

would take it upon themselves to time and

again reappear as though my lapse in

judgement entitled them to permanent

residence. True, there are compensations

when morning sun awakens those blue

petals and the flowers unfurl kissed by

light and warmth, a metaphor perhaps

of life's reliance on that golden orb's very 

presence. Trouble is, generations have

overwhelmed the scaffolding they rely

upon, my fence burdened by capricious

ownership of what is mine, not theirs while 

their countless offspring have settled in 

the garden disrupting legitimate residents

whose presence I treasure. No amount of

reasonable invitation for them to cease and

desist fazes those impertinent, lovely thugs.

1927 -- 2020 Requiescat en Pace

Surely, you would have liked the woman.

In all likelihood, so too would I. But if you

hadn't met her before now, that opportunity

is forever lost to you for the woman who lived

such a long and ripe life is now gone. No, I

don't know her personally. I don't even know

of her other than what I read in the purple

prose extolling her life in the paper's obituary.

Not that I make a habit of reading these ever so

mournful and tender remnants of a life recalled.

It's the photographs, placed side by side above

the account of the meaningful details of life well

lived that caught my eye as I turned the pages

while reading all the news fit to be printed. On

the left, that of a very young woman, trim and

pretty twirling in a ballet costume, the moment

caught in time. But time wore on and she became

as will we all, white-haired, wrinkled and broad

but that devilish smile that the young woman

flashed at the camera remained distinctly in place

transferred from youth to age, informing the 

viewer that here was a soul whom life suited.

The Sky Afire

 

 Magic. We know it when we see it.

Inspiring wonder and ecstasy. You step

outside your door, as late summer dusk

descends, look above the garden, above

the rooftops and the leafy spires of trees

and there ... the sky afire, burning red

shimmering and glowing and you know

this is magic. Do you really want to know

are you the least bit interested in knowing

about atmospheric conditions, the sun

low on the horizon, setting for the night as

our world revolves and evolves from day

to night? Will the magic persist and endure

with the explanation of light slanting in

the denser atmosphere alive with molecules

in the blue and violent spectrum excited

by the light, turning night-onset clouds into

a smouldering theatre of burnished light?

 

Temper of the Times

Antiquity still has much to teach the world of 

today which neglects to render proper credit

to the genius of cerebral functioning of those

who prepared today's generations to seek out

truth and reality. Ancient Greek philosophy

taught the  skill and utility of questioning

without prior bias and an open mind leaning

toward skillfully probing to ferret out what is

fact and what is not. An open mind prepared

to examine everything in the round to fully

understand all facets of an argument leading

to analytical conclusions. Socrates earned the

disfavour of his community which had no wish

that youth question the authority of elderly custom.

Today's hemlock potion emanates from those

very bastions of acquired knowledge fearful of

upsetting social mores and prepared to accept

populist propaganda unquestioning, immutable

lest the rage of the entitled masses fall upon them

for universities have become the aggregate home 

of the politically correct and those who comment

otherwise, demanding rationality explicating a

position that upends science and the natural order

have become the outcasts as higher learning cedes

to the loudest cries of victimhood to be redressed.

And Never The Twain

They migrate from the lands of their birth

to escape the endless internecine warfare

the violence of tribal and sectarian antipathies

endemic poverty and disease to those lands

willing to accept them as refugees to be

viewed with compassion and welcome

and they make a place for themselves in

secluded ghettos where the culture they are

most familiar with imbues them with the

emotional security of heritage among others

like themselves. They are not assimilable

into the prevailing culture, alien to them

emotionally inhospitable valuing the ethos

of human rights, equality and respect for

all. Many have brought with them mental

illness, resentment of authority, ill-will

toward others not like themselves making

it inevitable that there will be casualties

when one from Somalia who has attacked

women dies while in the process of being

subdued, another from Sudan wielding a scythe

kills a medical professional attempting to

cure his patient of the disease that ails him

the incompatibility of cultures and values

difficult to transcend benefiting no one.

Pre-Ordained

 

 

The legend appears on the right-hand

side of the jacket and is repeated on the

left-hand back pocket of the matching

trousers. The word 'POWERED' repeated

in block letters and under that: 'POWERED

SPORTSWEAR IS THE SPORTSWEAR' in 

smaller block letters. Under which appears 

'Created and manufactured to make being

young more fun'. Fine white cotton, the

jacket hooded, snaps to roll up the sleeves

the pant cuffs elasticized. Clearly action

oriented and though I was 50 at the time so

was I. Enamoured when I saw the outfit at

one of those pop-up stands that were so very

intriguing with their unique and exotic items.

There one day, gone the next.This one just 

outside the Palm Arcade where I would walk

an intricate network of streets from my home

at Fuyo Compound, central Tokyo. Which is how

I know the apparel is now 35 years old and

still presentable. In fact used daily in our strolls

through forest trails, the outfit chosen for its

lightweight cool on hot summer mornings, its

white colour and limb covering mosquito-proof.

As of yesterday's slip on a ravine descent I

am now the proud possessor of a cool outfit

the left knee of which has been ripped across

and shredded, au courant with the latest fashion

of choice for the young and the wanna-be's.

True to the prescient legend of yesteryear.

Penance Hiatus

Like the Phoenix of fable

the elite democracy of like-minded

kleptocracy has agreed to an interregnum

the rage of the oppressed and downtrodden

cannot this time be so readily overcome

and their viral demands of resignation

from a people too long mired in war

their own and those of their neighbours

now suffering privation and the

misery of death stalking

through a global pandemic

while their government concerns itself

with the orders of a malign state

determined to weigh its authority over

those it means to serve as proxies in its

own interests will have no more of it.

Neglect and disorder, disinterest 

in the well-being of a nation's dependents

will go so far and so far only when

millions await rescue from a living nightmare

from which they cannot awake. But wait

the government has acquiesced to its people's

demands and all will be well in the

belief of short memories and a re-assembling

of former principals the better to reset

the parameters and promises of deliverance

from the current maelstrom, familiar faces

will return proffering the salvation of

a minor hell, confident their captive audience

will forgive, forget and relent.

Forest Glen and Glade

 

The morning sun struggles to pierce

the living green shield of the forest canopy

dense with the mass of foliage trembling

in the wind, the great masts of poplar

pine and beech swaying, sunrays briefly

penetrating the inner forest landscape

cool and dark suddenly illuminated

just as suddenly returned to its perpetual 

state of soft grey dusk. A song sparrow

trills the pearls of its morning melody

and from the extended branch of an old

maple a red squirrel chatters a rebuke to

any that pass below. Trails lead hither and

yon in this garden of nature's devising

among the soaring trees, descending 

toward the inner bowels of the ravine in

which the forest thrives. Below runs a

waterway fed by far-flung streams the

whole eventually reaching a mighty river.

Damselflies and dragonflies flit light as

thoughts through the silent atmosphere.

In a glade suffused with sunlight and

bright with wildflowers one can wander

bedazzled at the sight of a colonized forest

floor in shades of white, gold, purple and 

pink reflecting from a selection of nature's

seasonal bounty, where berries ripen and

birds of the forest take their fastidious pick.

 

Alternate Realities

What does proof consist of really? Trial, no

error. A lived experience and the impressions

gained leading to a convincing argument.

In science there is conjecture and hypothesis

theory and the genius of advanced thought

as in educated guesses that impress and

urge the thinker to find ways to prove what

they believe by research, experiment and

analysis. That done, there is the additional

demand of reproducibility. And finally of

course, peer review once the theory has been

proven and it is felt that this particular science

has been 'settled', accepted as the very last word.

Take the human condition and the science of

endowed personality. In folk wisdom there is

a belief that a woman of fair substance can

change the character of a man imbuing him

with her values over time. For the purposes

of this puzzle imagine a man and woman with

varying beliefs and perceptions sharing a 

common culture. Living in harmony though

occasional disagreement may erupt briefly

while the shared long exposure one to the other 

eventually eliminates the long-held variances

in thought and belief. Add another few decades

and they have once again diverged; his original

beliefs and perceptions now hers and those she

held now fully invested in him. Ask me, I know.

Queen of Wildflowers

 

Its presence  unusual and rare it is

a jewel whose colour and facets

capture the sun illuminating its

perfection of form, a glowing tribute

to nature's fastidious care of her

creatures, this orchid growing

amongst other wildflowers gracing

them with its presence, not rude

and fundamental but gracious

as befits one whose existence is

of an aristocratic sisterhood deigning

now and again in an impulse of

noblesse oblige to share presence

adjoining a forest with those of a

common heritage crowding about

the statuesque green pedestal on which

grows the orchid; thistle and pilotweed

their floral gold and mauve accenting

the queen's vibratingly deep pink.

Destination Unknown

Is it a human trait to be deliberately

oblivious, or are we generally just so

innocently naive that we believe what

is happening will be finite and all that

we know as familiar and comforting

the routines that modern life has given

us through our own limitless inventive

capabilities will shortly return and the

grave threat that now exists to humanity's

future destined to disappear as we deal

with its challenges successfully as always

we somehow manage with ingenuity to

do. Just another of nature's trials sent

to test adaptability and resourcefulness.

Though we bitterly regret a temporary

setback in our advance to an ever more

prosperous, exciting future with strides

in enhanced and advanced technology

not yet imaginable, we believe implicitly

that this too shall pass. Conveniently we

set aside other challenged areas of grave

concern, not the least early experiments

demonstrating aptly the way humanity

is scheduled to annihilate itself, courtesy

grim predictions of the Doomsday Clock.

As conspiracy theories go nature herself

has wagered her creation will self-destruct

long before the assigned best-before date.

The Feral Psychopathic Entity

They find purpose and pride in the power

of their manifest destiny to raise the banner

of Shiite Islam far and wide and to that

singular purpose they have migrated far

and wide to establish presence and enlist

members in their divine mission for are they

not The Party of God? They differentiate

themselves from others devoted to establishing

Islam as the signal prominence among the

world's pretenders by signalling that among

their companions compelling their movement

and aiding their function is Death itself of

which they have no fear for that angel

delivers them as warriors in jihad to the

waiting arms of a virginal cohort anxious

to do their service in Paradise. Their earthly

sacrifice one of joy in anticipation of the goal

cardinal among its several missions the

obliteration of the Jewish state whose very

presence is an assault on the blessed Prophet

and whom he serves. Alliances critical to

their success motivate and incite like-minded

devout to their side even while sectarian

rejection and violence distract. That in their

zeal to destroy Israel they destroy themselves

and victimize co-religionists contributes to the

general loathing their presence elicits as a

feared, detested destructive force on earth.

Pray, Then Prey

It is said of the Almighty that He is a jealous

god, angered that humanity would have the

insolent temerity to overlook His omnipotent

omnipresence as the creator of all that exists

to find faith elsewhere. For, as it is said, the god

of Abraham, Isaac and Ishmael found favour in

these three progenitors of religious humanity

whose numbers encompass the globe while

zealously keeping the faith. Even as the pious

descendants of Isaac quibble over the deeper

meaning inherent in the sacred scriptures

those of Ishmael take serious note of the basics

of their commandments given them by this

jealous god to go forth to induct those who defy

obeisance to Allah either unto Islam or death.

And so was the Party of God created to do His

ineffable bidding for it remains an obligation

of the faith to bring those of the nations of war

into the serene nation of peace that is Islam.

And so set they forth to convince their enemies

of a severely shortened lifespan should they

defy the injunction to surrender to Islam. Threats

made all the more manifest by the stockpiling

of lethal weaponry among the people of peace

who now and again wage deadly conquest in

the name of the original warrior of god in

whose own name, Mohammad, his followers

are inspired. As fate decrees there are sundry

occasions when preparations for combat go

awry when munitions deploy spontaneously

all careful, covert preparations rent asunder.

This too, the work of the great unseen god.

You Knew That!

 

Tigers have stripes. Leopards have

spots. You knew that. Everyone does.

We can safely assume that the botanist

who named the ditch lily for its propensity

to grow in ditches knew what he was about.

On the other hand these are lilies known

as Tiger Lilies, and beautiful they are.

Large, bright orange and certainly not

striped. But they are dotted. Leopard lily

would appear to make more sense but

Tiger lily they are. A wildflower so very

familiar to those living in rural settings

where they grow spontaneously as all

wildflowers tend to, wherever the soil

and the exposure suits them; around and

about barnyards, open fields and on the

verges of forests. Recalled as a familiar

sight, a beautiful appearance, tall and

regal, sharing an orange pigment with

tigers, true, but no stripes. Cast your mind

back and think: did you as a child ever

harbour the urge to pick them and bring

some happily to your mother? That reminds

me almost sixty years ago my son did just

that and was angrily reprimanded by a

woman whose cottage was close by. A

nearby field full of these wonderful orange

flags and she chose to natter at a small

child that his naughty behaviour was ever

so offensive. Oh, the things we recall on

viewing the friendly face of  the familiar.