I like to walk instead of driving,
look for solutions to today’s problems
in the rear view mirror of books,
hardbacks often hard to find but worth
the struggle.
We seek and find, ask and receive—if
earnest and caring, but so much depends
upon grace or luck, there’s a back and
forth play at work between effort, love
and achievement.
The wide path to destruction might always
just be a fact, the narrow to redemption
and heaven just there was well, Jesus a
“great”—but don’t call him a “good” teacher
unless you want a reprimand.
“You cannot change the world” said Lao Tzu,
“It cannot be done,” is so wise, and yet it
is the human way to try, try, try—for what
else is there really to do but try and be the best
we can be?
“To make an effort” was the reason for
being alive, according to Charles Dickens’
Mrs. Chick, a cool character in Dombey
and Son, which was really about Dombey
and Daughter.
Irony is the bitter pill, sometimes sweet,
like that black hole though—it depends
where you are standing when observing,
it’s all relative like the Water Line drawn
again after a storm.
You wonder if they’ll keep building under
it, or will they learn to respect the force
of nature that wrecks the coast, build
up and back from the shore, deny ourselves
beauty for safety’s sake, use the lessons
we learn from history.
CIA killed JFK, we still didn’t black people
enough pay, and the natives we pushed
off their land so we could frankly: steal
it for apparent gold, and the subtle peace
of segregation and walls.
Something there is that doesn’t love a
fire hose, children in a Birmingham street,
Gandhi grabbing salt from his own beach,
oil pipelines crashing into native American
drum beats.
It would just be neat, if the wide path narrowed,
the narrow widened—which is the exact
reason to get up in the morning and write
a poem, I guess. Something there is, Robert
Frost on my window.
I look back, try not to get hit in the front,
try to remind us about Samuel’s request for
a king, the corruption that would come
from men ruling over men—it’s still here,
but that’s the world.
We believe what we want to believe, change
walking in bearing five senses if aware you
catch them; driving fast in a metal box you
might miss the message of a cross, and eating,
eating you miss
what the fast was trying to teach, take less
at the buffet, by bread alone man does not
eat, but from every word God speaks, the real
treat is peace of mind following your best
sober day ever.
Every reach is seen and counted, your every
hair a part of universe fabric as it bends to
accept planets and balls, spinning and moving
like sex parts or Niagara Falls, the Earth certainly
alive and well.
Sometimes it’s too hot, sometimes the wind
blows telling us we are not in control,
and scientists insist the temperature is rising
over time in response to irresponsible burning
and human waste.
I am no one to argue with career professionals
minus those who keep killing Kennedy with
every tweet on social media, all of us looking
to November every four years as the Mecca
of potential change.
I prefer to bend with every four months, a new
natural season unfolding seemingly more
powerful where I live than a stated political
goal unfurling in the calm, frantic waters of
history so deep—
So jump in, measure the place where we sank
after the swim, then don’t build buildings anymore
below the mark, so we don’t have to after a
hurricane do this all over again, same with
murdered presidents.
Keep score, mark what CIA said when they
blocked this, or hid this document, hold
each other accountable—don’t let the norm
be the bearer of false witnessing before a
court still reeling,
from the truth behind an M-16 waiting, we
dare you to look, intimidation sometimes
amuck, too much pressure mounting until
whoops!! The dang levee broke, “We have
to fix it today!!!”
Maybe. Or maybe wait, take deep breaths,
and hike up the marsh until it’s dry as a bone,
build there. Look at CIA in the eye, give them
all a hug, and say, “There, there. It’s okay
to lie, and steal,
if you admit the sin, try to never do it again.”
And murder… sixth on the commandment
list of ten: admit, accept, and take the action
of change away from old habits, make a decision—
declare victory!
Come back to God, honor your parents whether
they were nice to you or not, they did their best.
Honor the Sabbath day, and keep Something holy!
Believe in a Power greater than you, keep
Something holy!!
Ask for Wisdom, like Solomon did, erect
your life strong and bright—just smart and
right! Start by keeping an eye on the past
and what it teaches so fine; start by building
above the line.
Bill Watkins, Traveling Poet 