Spring Equinox 2019

          Consistent C

Competitiveness I cannot claim
Consistently a C, content
Could say complacent

Compulsory contrition could be credited
Consolation citation craved
Complete convergence to chaos
(Our new normal beyond the facts)

Collusion or conspiracy
I am caught in alliteration of the C
“Collusion is not a crime,” said Chris Christie
Contrary to dictionary
Conspiracy: ​secret plan to do something harmful or illegal
Collusion: ​secret cooperation for dishonest or illegal purpose

Campaign claims complex complicity
Contrite
Could couldn’t, can can’t

Compassion constrained
Caring commitments clouded
Catastrophe complete
Condolences

Moving Nouns

A noun -- the name of something

Naming a day makes it appear to be a noun.

A Monday isn't a thing I can hold, it demands action

return to school or back to work.

Nor can I hold a Monday back --

It presents a new state of being as the sun rises.

The alarm is a noun I can throw across the room

to no avail

Monday moves like a wave pushing us into the week.

The days follow in ritual order

If they were nouns I could mix them up.

Thursday would come first, a reflective state of being

Pulled from deep in the week.

To-daying into Thursday smiles

Humming the scarecrow's lament

Knowing

Why the ocean is by the shore and

Why where I am is always here

*****************************************************

Last month I retrieved a book of poetry from storage that was written by my grandfather. His family migrated  from Canada  to North Dakota  in the late  19th century. The book was published in the 1950s covering poetry he had written from the 30s, maybe before, to contemporary -- including musing on missiles siloed in his beloved prairie during the Cold War. Very few pieces were dated. 

He wrote about his love of family, home and neighbors, the problems facing farmers - drought, economic depression, war - and he balanced this with delight in music, children, travel and friends. I wonder if there were more poems that didn't get printed. I am grateful for all he chose to share. My grandfather, Samuel George Howden, died in 1960. He is buried on his prairie home. 

The book begins with a memorial for a friend then goes to this lighter tone:

EVIDENCE 

"Stranger can you guess my calling?

I have gotten discouraged and blue;

Don't care to get up in the morning, 

And don't give a ding what I do."

"Why," said the stranger, "that's easy; 

I need only give you one glance 

To know you're a cow milking farmer, 

That has only one pair of pants."

And here are his thoughts on his life:

TAKING STOCK OF MY EFFORTS

Out on the rolling prairie, 

     I have spent the most of my life. 

I chose the profession of farming 

     Once blessed with an honorable wife.

We worked and planned together, 

     Shared in both troubles and joys, 

Well knowing the cares of a parent - - 

We having four girls and four boys.

The mother has gone to be rewarded, 

     In that place we all hope to see. 

And now when I think of her unswerving faith, 

     Those thoughts are a guidance to me. 

I used to have hope and ambition, 

    A purpose, a will and a plan; 

But now, taking stock of my efforts, 

    I find I am just an old man.