Category Archives: Musings

Union Job

Labor Day 2020

Union Job

I was just a kid really,
But a union job was big-time,
You had to know someone.
I didn’t realize that at the time,
The environment was frightening,
But the money was good.
They show you the ropes in a moment
Where to punch in, what happens if you don’t
That is, punch-in or out.
They show you the break area
Picnic tables on concrete with a few vending machines
God-awful coffee, that I learned to drink to stay up the first night.
They show you the bathrooms
I still have nightmares
Having to go, and there are no non-filthy ones available.
Dude I started with got the paint line
Sounded scarier than what I got.
I worked the warehouse, loading trucks
With aluminum siding of all types
In long boxes picked from cavernous warehouse.
Put on long carts, pulled by way too fast fork lifts
Driven by crazy people that feared nothing.
The carts were backed into tractor-trailers
We unloaded as fast as we could, never fast enough.
The eye loops for the hooks on the trailers
Bruised our shins, the old guys had disfigured legs
The young guys limped until they became more nimble.
Hands dried out from the cardboard and cracked.
The dust and dark and dingy trucks had woad flooring.
They had holes sometimes. but we filled them with boxes anyway.
Lunch was a half-hour, they had it timed, perfect
Two beers and a ground-round from local bar.
Pre-ordered and consumed in heartburn inducing rapidity.
We worked the night-shift – usually about 14 to 16 hours.
Overtime pay was what everyone wanted.
I’d team up with Jimmy sometimes, he was 4 years older than me
That made him an old-man… he sang in a band on weekends.
We would sing together while picking in the warehouse
House of the rising sun… seemed oddly applicable.
I learned to smoke cheap cigars, because that’s what everyone did
Cigars or cigarettes .. but when you are loading, cigarettes slowed you down… Cigars burned the inside of your bicep when you were lifting boxes over your head.
Monster of a guy was second in state arm-wrestling.
Naturally I challenged him, my knuckles were bruised hitting the picnic table top… didn’t do that again.
You get along, or they get you out.
Two fights and you’re fired.
First fight gets you a week off without pay.
To get rid of someone, even these guys thought was dangerous
Two people picked fights with him over a few week period…
We all pitched in to pay for the week off with pay for each pugilist
I feared being asked to fight someone… I was happy to pay my share.
It was a world and a community all its own.
The pay was good, but they went on strike anyway.
The factory moved away, and I went to school and found other summer jobs… yearning for an education and a future.

In the Fall

In the Fall

In the fall of our existence
The trees creak in the wind
Giving in, providing no resistance
To failings and faults within
And without our limitations
No matter how we pretend 
We are but poor imitations 
Of who were back then
When there was spring in the air
And summer played in time
When we never seemed to care
Win or lose, we’d never mind
Just get up and do it over and over again
Never think it might be the last
Before fall intrudes, and winter sets in
As a cold and disabling blast 
So we’ll bundle up, and enjoy once more 
The memories of a simpler past
When it seemed we were young evermore. 

 

Trump, the Anti-Commander-in-Chief

You know, I was so disgusted when I initially heard that Trump was not attending a visit to the cemetery in France to commemorate the end of World War I and importantly to honor the 1800 United States Marines that died in battle at Belleau Wood who are interned in the Aisne-Marne American Cemetery near Paris.  This was November 2018. Now the reports and the quotes from that time are even more disgusting and sickening.  He would not go to the cemetery, not just because of the rain.  At the time it was said that the Marine 1 could not fly, and the Motorcade would not be possible.   These were lies.  The reality is that it would be bad for his hair, and as he was quoted as saying, “Why should I go there, they were a bunch of losers”… Losers to die for their country, to fight and die bravely.
Those of you who continue to support this president, please know exactly who he is.  He does not respect our military, he does not honor our wounded veterans and fallen soldiers, he is a coward and lacks any semblance of empathy and honor.   If he does not have empathy for families of our fallen soldiers, and finds wounded veterans at parades as disgusting, and his opinion is that only losers and suckers serve in the military, then he is not eligible and not qualified to be our commander-in-chief.  He is the anti-CIC.
See the article in The Atlantic: https://www.theatlantic.com/politics/archive/2020/09/trump-americans-who-died-at-war-are-losers-and-suckers/615997/

Reprinted from this website, November 2018:

INCONVENIENT, LOGISTICS THEY SAID…

 

 

They Died at Belleau

 

Toward the guns they ran
All patriots to the last man
Dying as a million bullets flew
Fighting in the woods of Belleau
A century ago, the great war
They came to fight from afar
Inconvenienced in a great way
1800 died in the woods that day
Yet today’s leader wouldn’t face the rain
So, he sent others to salute without shame
An inconvenient 100-mile motorcade
To lay a wreath for those still there today

Publishing My Third Book

Book 3, Self-Published

I used self-publishing saving much
But with no review, edit or such
It is there perfect, never trampled, pristine
Like powdered snow, that’s never been seen
Not a single comment, not a single buy
No publisher, no editor, no-one but I
To blame, and no value yet, not a single star
In a way it is absolutely perfect thus far 
Nothing but a feeling of completion for the third-time
Of my passionate thoughts and occasioned rhyme

 

Vigilante Horror…

 

Vigilante Horror

Some will praise a vigilante
Some will see him as a hero
Some will oil and load their guns
Some will fail to mourn the death of protesters
Many will view this is just another part of the landscape
But ever more will see this as a horror
More will fear a white supremacy movement
More will question why police ignore an armed 17 year-old
More will mourn the death of protesters

More will see this as a sad corruption of a 17 year-old
More will see this as Trump’s dystopian America
More will pray for peace
Let’s hope for an answer

 

It is necessary to fearlessly face reality, while maintaining hope!

As One Convention Ends and The Next Begins

Last night Joe Biden gave a great speech that demonstrated his ability to be emphatic, to unite, and to restore decency and respect to the Office of the Presidency.   This was culmination of a convention that appropriately demonized, and ridiculed Trump and his administration.  It appropriately showed the diversity of our country and it’s potential, as well as the great challenges ahead for us.   Correctly the Democrats presented the case for voting, voting in numbers that will make it impossible for Trump to claim that the election was fraudulent and thereby stay in power as the votes are counted and recounted for months or maybe longer, followed by court challenges that will suspend our democracy for an unknown timeframe.

My concern is that the American people already understand and know that Trump is not decent, is not truthful and is not traditional in any way we would recognize as a President of the United States… and pointing it out is like so what?   Those that will vote for him already know that… they say things, like I wish he wouldn’t tweet, but I like his policies and actions and they say they are afraid of what the Democrats will do, they fear the tax and spend, and emphasis on the Green Deal, and other demonized progressive policies.   They don’t adequately appreciate the tearing down of institutions that we really need, because the government bureaucracy doesn’t work anyway in their view… the reality is that it does, and it is working despite the constant and unwarranted onslaught from Trump’s administration.    The USPS is a marvelous and trusted institution.  It will resist, as it should, and Congress will not allow for the gutting of our institution of postal service.   It will be difficult but it will be OK and we the people will work around the problems to ensure our votes are presented and counted.

My worry is that although, Joe Biden will certainly be a President for the entire country, as opposed to Donald Trump who is a President for only his supporters… especially those that give him the adulation that a narcissist needs, and craves.   Joe must win.   But to win, Joe Biden and the Democrat’s must then address the concerns that all Americans have with real policies and plans.   What are the specific plans to address the pandemic? What are we going to do to get American’s back to work?  How and when do kids go back to school?  Is our food supply safe?  How will we assure our access to vaccines and pharmaceuticals?   How do we pay for everything?

I have no doubt that the Republicans next week in their convention will present that everything is coming back to normal, ignoring the depth of combined crisis of pandemic spread and death, job losses, economic ruin.   They will mirror the Democrats and  make it about personality and fear mongering that Joe Biden will let our cities burn in protest and rioting, and will increase taxes putting the economic recovery at risk…  Again, they will not have plans and policies to present.  If they did, it would be good, because it would cause the Democrats to respond and maybe, just maybe we could get back to debating and negotiating what a future could look like, and how we get there.

For me character, and intent matters, and I will vote for Joe Biden.  However the Republicans could play a great role yet, by making their convention about policy and plans and drawing a contrast between the two party platforms.  Sadly that won’t happen, and we will not get the benefit of future debates on the things that do matter for Americans.  To do so we would need two decent candidates that could be equally trusted.  Unfortunately we have only one.

 

The Train Called the City of New Orlean

I couldn’t get a song out of my head for several days… I find it nostalgic and haunting, written by Steven Goodman and made famous by Arlo Guthrie, called “The City of New Orleans”… for me it was as if the train was calling on America to think again about who we are and what it all means as we pass our five hundred miles of life.  How we see each other and how we see the world we are leaving for others.   The first verse I left the same, except Mr. Goodman described passing towns with no name, instead of trains as Mr. Guthrie recorded the song.  The second verse is largely my fabricated notion of what a world we are in the afternoon of our lives.  How we see others, how judgmental we can become, and how we should see rather the simple joy of kids that ask the engineer to blow his horn.   The last verse, I changed from “Dealin’ cards with the old men in the club car… Penny a point ain’t no one keepin’ score” to reflect our current form of distraction, our smart phones, and I try to bring into the thought the memory again of being young and the joy of rocking babes to sleep.   As we fade into our evenings of life what are we leaving for our grandsons and granddaughters… our dreams.

Good Morning America, How are you?

Riding on the City of New Orleans
Illinois Central Monday morning rail
Fifteen cars and fifteen restless riders
Three conductors and twenty-five sacks of mail
All along the southbound odyssey
The train pulls out at Kankakee
Rolls along past houses, farms and fields
Passin’ towns that have no names
Freight yards full of old black men
And the graveyards of the rusted automobiles

Good afternoon America, how are you?
Don’t you know me, I’m your native son
I’m the train they call the City of New Orleans
I’ll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done

And where were you
When the City of New Orleans came rumbling by
When all the towns and people seem
To fade into a bad dream
And the steel rails still hadn’t heard the news
A train can have the disappearing railroad blues
Don’t you recognize your native son
Why do you think you have to judge anyone
When they just would like you to listen to what they said
After-all they pledged a sacred allegiance just as you did
And those that came after with desire to be as one
With us in heart, sharing the dream of a native son
Regardless where they came from or where they were born
And the engineer waves and gives a blast of the horn
From his perch sitting way up high on the train
For children in their yards pulling an imaginary chain

Good evening America, how are you?
Don’t you know me, I’m your native son
I’m the train they call the City of New Orleans
I’ll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done

Sitting each with our phones, no one talking anymore
Playing mind numbing games, no one keeping score
Pass the filtered purchased water as world rumbles by
And grandsons of Pullman porters
And the granddaughters of engineers
Ride their father’s magic carpet of diesel and rail
Mother’s with their babes asleep
Rocking to the gentle beat
Dreaming of a peaceful moonlit night and quiet sail 

Good night America, how are you?
Don’t you know me, I’m your native son
I’m the train they call the City of New Orleans
I’ll be gone five hundred miles when the day is done

Reflecting on Fate vs. Choice…

Life Stream

Bobbing in a stream of life
Turbulent in place, calm in others
Believing our choices are ours 
Believing our paths are ours
That those that flow and weave 
Through us and with us are theirs
And our choices
When the Earth was carved in serpentine 
By the millions that came before
And the choices they made or did not
And the rocks we hurdle were smoothed
And made shiny by the blood of millions more
That tore their skin on the jagged challenges
As we are so often asked to contribute
So that we bounce together, and 
Sway from east to west when we must
Thinking it was our own choice to 
See the sunset 
To have a stream of conscious 
To find a quiet ride in the middle
And no longer work at carving the land
Or even to turn and swim upstream
Running into those that follow 
Disrupting and distrusting
Instead of bobbling along
Enjoying the choices made 
By and for us and for each other

Can you feel the darkness…

 

In Plain Sight

Can you feel the darkness in the light
Hiding there, perfectly in plain sight
Blowing against the winds of change
Turbulence past trying to rearrange
To resist the evidentially historical wrong
Do you feel, do you hear its siren song
For it does not go quiet in to the night
It continues, as does darkness in plain sight
For it is part of who we are and always been
For it is dark art that can never be shown again
But it is there as a sure as the sun rises each day
As long as we allow darkness to have its say
In minds distracted, and hearts hollow
With the purpose of those we follow
Giving us our failed-thoughts to believe
So our collective-darkness will never leave

 

 

While Waiting…

 

Waiting

The stench of asphalt on a hot sunny day
The incessant whine of weedwhackers
The distant hum of chillers creating
An artificial universe somewhere, not here
The flies that wander by, certainly
Attracted by the nauseating odor of asphalt
And maybe the sweat on neck of those waiting
For the world to say where to go next
For the world to have an answer to what’s next
For I do not…