There was a time when this is what it looked like making plans for a weekend night.  No cell phones, no group texts, no websites to check out a destination.

If you were young and going out on a weekend evening, you had a network in your mind that you would begin calling.  Someone would have to start the plans, and get the message out.  You wouldn’t get people at home, they’d be out, maybe working, so you leave a message with their mom or brother, or sister, never count on a dad to pass a message about going out!  And sometimes you wouldn’t trust a younger sister, either… You’d call back later to make sure the message was getting out. Then you’d move on.   I remember I had a small little address book, but mostly you relied on memory, and knowing how to extend the network beyond the first few people you call.  You call Dave, he calls John, and maybe Mark.  Then you’d know that John and Mark would call Susie and Cathy, and on and on.  Sometimes you’d get together with as many as fifteen people or more.

Then there was arriving.  You’d get to the location and find that it closed!  Whoever got there first would have to wait for a couple more to arrive to figure out where to go from there. Someone would have to wait in the parking lot for stragglers to pass the message.

Amazing, we figured this out, and made it work.  Don’t know who I was talking to, but quite sure I was reaching out to the network for party planning… somehow it was all worth it!

From NY Times: https://www.nytimes.com/2018/10/08/us/migrant-children-family-separation-court.html

Migrant Children in Search of Justice: A 2-Year-Old’s Day in Immigration Court

Fernanda Jacqueline Davila, in Tegucigalapa, Honduras, earlier this year, has been in government custody since she was taken from her grandmother at the border in late July.

 

Desperately Alone

 

Forever away, a bus, a truck, I walk

From mi casa to where?

Looking up, grown-ups they talk

 

Mimi, where do we go?

Dolly is with me so I’m content

What better life, how so?

 

What is an America, this building, cold stone?

Big man, badge shiny, carries me, Mimi, Mimi I cry

I shiver, in a room, tears, desperately alone

 

Day becomes, night, and another

They feed me, give me crayons

Grown-ups, a sister, maybe a brother

 

What is this family, no love, no kisses?

Days, weeks, months, my life

Pulling the blanket, mi casa Dolly misses

 

Another bus, another scary place, I see

New York, the noise, another building of stone

Tears, fears, waiting in a chair too big for me

 

The grown-up in a robe, seems nice, right

She speaks, others tell me her words

But questions I don’t know, so I nod polite

 

Tears as I’m carried away again

What have I done to be so far from mi casa

Is it what I’ve heard, did I sin?

 

Is this my life, one more building of stone?

Another grown-up in a robe

I wait in a big chair, face wet, desperately alone

 

Impermanence

 

Maybe art, poetry, beauty is like blowing desert sands

Changing, shifting, impermanent as it sifts through our hands

To be appreciated in the moment captured of our minds eye

Before it shifts, decays or blows away, like a whispered sigh

Can beauty, like the vitality of life, be preserved forever

Or is it a mirage, that eventually disappears into never

Beauty that transcends centuries is captured in a moment

In history, and in legacy of thought that others must foment

We are invited to keep alive the classics in style and art

Yet every day the sands shift as new artists do their part

In being winds of change, shining light on yours and mine

Capturing and imaging thought, feelings, a moment in time

No matter the legacy we seek, no matter the image of today

Impermanence will reign, like the girl with a balloon flying away

At the end of this poem is an explanation… your choice to read it first or the poem and try to understand the poem without explanation…

  

Arthur Ichabod

 

My name’s Arthur,

       Arthur Ichabod my good sir

Polite because I am,

      Never creating the least little stir

Busy navigating

      A land that seems so foreign

Obstacles everywhere

      Fluidity of motion seems to reign

Let me be still

      And think, I can think I’m sure

I never understand

     Sports and exercises’ allure

I don’t need to be

     Entertained by humor or song

I won’t be distracted

     I’ll stay busy and never be wrong

What are the greatest

    Problems of our humankind

I perceive, and think

    Of solutions perfect in my mind

But how can I answer

    Why do people hurt and hate?

But answers must mean

    To feel, to love, find a higher state

Where is the intellect

    Where is the memory and soul?

I’m befuddled by all

    Maybe they are soulless and mean

Is it intelligence

    That can find an answer to this

Or is it compassion

    That tells us that we really exist

I am Arthur Ichabod

     I have much to ponder and learn

Being busy thinking

     I’m here to help all of us discern

What are the answers

     To soul queries to get humankind right

Can I help you my friends?

     Or shall I replace you with proper and polite

 

 

 

---

Arthur Ichabod is a name chosen for its initials are the same as ‘artificial intelligence’… additionally Arthur from King Arthur, legendary glorious leader, and Ichabod a biblical name that more or less means not glorious, an image of clumsiness and failure.   So, AI could be glorious or could be a monumental failure.  I suggest that we should think of artificial intelligence as more of augmented intelligence.  In other words, as a tool that is used for us to perform tasks that are routine and yet requires awareness.  Self-driving cars are an example of this technology we can see and understand today.  We should use AI (Augmented Intelligence) to solve problems for mankind and to help us advance the intelligence of humankind, not replace our intelligence with automation.  AI is being used in medicine to arrive at new drugs and treatments that are geared to the specific genetic makeup of a person.  But machines will never feel, or be compassionate, never create and hopefully never procreate… so we must advance in intelligence, in understanding and in compassion for each other, while also using our creativity to bring solutions through technology.  Augmented Intelligence, not Arthur Ichabod.

 

Hug Me

 

The hug of my brother

Is better than no other

Stay with me awhile right here

Telling me there’s nothing to fear

Nothing in this world shall separate

Forever we will be there to elevate

And ensure the love of one another

Be there always, my loving brother!

Sunrise

Enjoy the colors of the day at the hour of dawn

Hear the birds singing their cheering morning song

Breathe in deep the satisfying cool of morning dew

Thinking of memories of past and this day so new

Enjoying life in perfect array of song and light

Making your heart light and soul just right!

 

Roundness

 

Someone asked if I was trying to get in shape

I said I’m in shape, it just happens to be round

Round is a shape you can rely on

It’s a shape that is infinitely symmetrical

And remarkably efficient

No matter what you try to do with round

It remains persistently round

I’ve started running after many years

Of letting these knees recover,

At least that’s what I told myself I was doing

Run, well, my slo-mo version is best called jogging

I’ve dieted, and lost 10% of my roundness

But roundness persists

Ten percent is hardly noticeable when you’re round

Round is also good for numbers

When you get to one of those round number years

Then you can round down

Well maybe it’s my shape to own, round!

 

 

My Barbers, Different yet the Same

 

Tony has been my barber for twenty years

Great guy, looks like Mr. Clean

Dome top, huge muscles

Yet delicate with scissors, I still have both ears

 

I considered warily the first I saw his shaved top

Would he know how

Could he do a business cut

Yet he’s quick, efficient, and runs a successful shop

 

Its only 10 or 15 minutes per visit, as it should

But over so many years

You get to know about

His business, his family and our neighborhood

 

Now in another town, needing a cut for good reason

A business meeting coming

Find a shop, it’s random

I walk in and met by a woman, named for a season

 

She has purple hair, ring in her nose, and youth

I think oh no

But I remember Mr. Clean

I suspend my disbelief and slide into her booth

 

She asks me what I want, I think… I want Tony

But I say, business cut

Above the ears, to collar in the back

She works, we discuss who has the best local Coney

 

Surprise, surprise, everyone says they really like my hair

So last week it was time again

I went back to her shop

Well where she works, and I was pleased she was there

 

She says it’s nice to have hair to work with, just as I sit

I ask meaning, confused

She says a guy was in earlier

He has three strands of hair but wants a cut like Brad Pitt

 

Autumn heard me talk on the phone about business while I await

She looks up notes

From last she cut my hair

Smart, she is able to repeat the cut, and my fears totally abate

 

Turns out she knows her business, and is really quite smart

I learn about the franchise

I learn about her

I no longer miss Tony, at least when thousands of miles apart

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Gilded Evil

 

Evil cloaked and gilded in gold

Candles and chalice so very cold

Hidden behind vestments and holy word

Evil intent and industry untoward

The most innocent are the easiest of prey

They’re gullible and piously they pray

Made to feel as if it was their fault

While criminals outwardly exult

In joy and with protection certain

In the institution and its gilded curtain

Just confess and absolve all their sin

And unfortunately, they do it again

Until there is nothing left but decay and death

And the pure and good ones too lose their faith

While the victims still struggle with endless pain

Caused by an institution of the criminally insane

Eagle Flight

Majestic eagle flying North at sunrise

Glint of white tail and head as she flies

The sun warming her right wing

Every bright morning the same thing

To her hunting grounds she goes

Why there, how is it that she knows

Is it from mothers-to-daughters they learn

But then which intellect was first to discern

Was a discovery of accident or intent

And a message through generations sent

As with all things, beginnings must have a start

The eagle flies majestic bringing thrill to the heart