One Lonely Dragon


English: Japanese dragon, colour engraving on ...
English: Japanese dragon, colour engraving on wood, Chinese school, 19th Century, bibliothèque des Arts décoratifs, Paris Русский: Японский дракон, цветная гравюра на дереве, китайская школа, 19 век, bibliothèque des Arts décoratifs, Paris Français : Dragon japonais, gravure sur bois en couleur, école chinois, XIXème siécle, bibliothèque des Arts décoratifs, Paris (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

One Lonely Dragon, Magic and Tough

 

 

 

Once I yearned to be magic and tough,

 

But I was left to wonder what my status is,

 

Though life’s a stage to strut my stuff,

 

I knew I’d never make it in show biz.

 

 

 

I was the wall flower, intense and shy,

 

Entering from stage left, or was it right?

 

Left out of the popular group, the other guy,

 

For everything I got, I had to fight.

 

 

 

So I became a dragon from medieval days,

 

You knew I was there.  I had a mighty roar,

 

But dragons are the ones who everyone slays,

 

If I wasn’t careful, I’d be doomed forevermore.

 

 

 

I could be in a crowded room, invisible to all,

 

Pretending that I’d asked someone to dance,

 

Yet even then my courage would hit the wall,

 

For lonely dragons only get one chance.

 

 

 

There must be a lady dragon waiting somewhere,

 

Although time drags on and it’s getting late,

 

I’m still invisible and no one can find me here,

 

I’m breathing fire and I don’t want to wait.

 

 

 

And the days drag on, and the nights grow cold,

 

I still remain a dragon, but just on the inside,

 

Watching the modern knights who are so bold,

 

While I sit steaming in my tough old hide.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Love Found a Way


 

Golden Valley, AZ sunset funnel cloud
Golden Valley, AZ sunset funnel cloud (Photo credit: Uncle Jerry in Golden Valley, AZ)

 

Red sky at night, sailor's/shepherd's delight.
Red sky at night, sailor’s/shepherd’s delight. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

 

In the icy throes of winter,

 

Your love was frozen too,

 

My heart hoped for early spring,

 

There was nothing else to do,

 

 

 

Inclement weather and funnel clouds,

 

Took away your romantic bent,

 

I waited for the signs of summer,

 

To show you my intent,

 

 

 

In the sizzling heat of summer,

 

Your heart remained frozen still,

 

Packed among wounds not forgotten,

 

Love had long lost its thrill,

 

 

 

Summer days were too hot,

 

I thought our shadows would melt,

 

You kept me at arm’s length,

 

True love you never felt,

 

 

 

There was one season yet to try,

 

Before all was declared in vain,

 

Autumn rains swept the past away,

 

Allowing love to soothe your pain,

 

 

 

I was patient though eager, too,

 

To see what you might say,

 

When I asked you to marry me,

 

Love finally found a way.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

A Scandal is a Storm With a Voracious Appetite


Liberty: Washington
Image by FatBusinessman via Flickr

Stir a
Scandal and it only gets bigger.  One
misdeed grows larger, getting energy from opposing forces, until it becomes a
storm of increasing destructive strength sweeping over a wider area, changing
the landscape forever.  And yet, in spite
of all the debris and obvious evidence, there is denial that the storm ever
existed, or if it did exist, the claims are made that it did no damage.

A political storm is not about a politician
being open and honest with constituents.
It is about truth management.  First,
is it necessary to tell the truth? How much truth should be told?  Who needs to know and why?  If the truth comes out will it destroy the
power base or the sources of income? To what extent should the sources of truth
be stopped?

A politician
is not one person, but the figurehead of an organization.   That organization has spent time and money building
an image, lifting the politician to a position of power.  Unscrupulous members might be assigned the
chores of keeping bad news or truths hidden.
Small scandals can be countered with lies or money. Large scandals might
require more drastic measures.  And the
politicians themselves might never know how the scandal is handled.  A scandal is a storm with a voracious
appetite, springing up suddenly, and out of control.  Such is the story of Any Mann.

Any Mann
began as a small town candidate running for a small office.  He kissed babies, became a member of the
school board, the county water district, the city council, and quietly began
building his resume.  He had help, of
course, from an organization that saw his potential.  He wasn’t particularly bright, but he was
handsome and well groomed, did and said what he was told, smiled a lot, and had
a clean record.  He was a near perfect
candidate and the organization could build a power base around him.

He was elected to the state assembly on the
first try, not because he was so great but because the organization easily outspent
his opponent.  After three terms Any was
elected to Congress and gradually worked his way onto powerful committees.  Those who had supported him throughout his
career now began asking him for favors as a way of repaying their investments. The
requests were harmless at first, but the demands became increasingly bold, and
were hard to put into bills without public exposure.

The
pressures on Any were growing and he began taking prescription drugs to ease
his stress.  His political strength was building
and he was becoming a name across the country.

He returned
to his home town for a Mother’s Day celebration.  His sister, brother and selected friends
joined him.  They partied hardy.   Any relaxed
and was glad to be away from the pressures of Washington although he still had
his bodyguards. Sometime in the evening drinking and drugs mixed.   Any at first appeared normal but soon he was
out of control.  He found his sister,
Patti, asleep in another room.  After a
brief struggle he overpowered and raped her.

As morning
neared he came to his senses and became afraid.
“Get out! This is your fault!  You’re
trying to ruin me!”  He shoved her out of
the room.  “I don’t ever want to see you
again!”

Their older
brother was awakened by the commotion and found Patti sobbing inconsolably, curled
in a fetal position.  After a few minutes
he asked gently, “What happened?” Patti ‘s eyes widened.  “I can’t tell you,” she sobbed.  “You have to,” he insisted.

“Any raped me,” she blurted. He held her hand,
gradually comprehending the gravity of the situation.  He hugged her and said, “Everything will be
all right.  After I find Any I’m taking
you to the hospital.”

He found Any
outside the house, talking with a bodyguard.
He walked up to Any and asked bluntly, “Patti’s our sister. Why did you
rape her?”

“Don’t be
taking her side when you don’t even know what happened! I knew she’d say
something like that.  She’s a tramp!”

Before Any
could say anything more, he was knocked down. His brother stated, “I should
kill you but after I take Patti to the hospital, I’m holding a news conference
and telling the nation just what kind of jerk you are.”

He spun about and marched out.  Any turned to the bodyguard.  “I guess it’s all over.”

The
bodyguard was on his cell phone immediately.
After a few seconds he said, “Go get in my car and wait there.  Don’t talk to anybody. The big boss says hang
tight.  We’ll handle this crisis before
it gets out of control.”

“What do you
mean?”

“This is not
the time to ask questions, sir.  Just
follow directions.  Everything is already
put into motion.”

Any saw his
brother and sister drive away in his government issued sedan. He put his head
into his hands. “What is going on?  I can’t
believe that I’ve screwed up my life.”

In his
anguish he missed the following scene. A gray car pulled out and followed the
sedan at a respectable distance.  A few
blocks away at a stoplight the gray car suddenly pulled up alongside the sedan.  Several guns fired simultaneously.  The sedan lurched forward and crashed into a
pole.

The gray car
sped away.

Within the
hour a news bulletin was issued.  “This
afternoon at 1 p.m. an attempted assassination on Congressman Any Mann was
made.  His driver, brother and sister were
killed by unknown gunmen.  By a lucky
circumstance Any had been called away to an emergency meeting and was not in
the car.  Our government has just issued
a High Alert until the gunmen can be found.”

The
resulting publicity and the way Any handled himself over the next few months
raised his ratings in the polls.  He
became a presidential candidate and insiders said he had the best chance of
winning.

But there
were rumors that kept bubbling up and damaging Any’s image. Did someone have a
video showing Any and his brother fighting?
Could that bruise on his cheek be explained?   Did
someone actually have a tape of Patti’s dying words?  Attempts were made to squelch each and every
rumor but that only made the rumors spread.
Did Any order his brother and sister killed?  Should such a man be elected to the White
House?

It wasn’t
long before the other congressmen considered Any a liability and began
distancing themselves.  They didn’t want
to go down with his ship.  Finally the
organization behind him cut all ties.  “You
can’t do this,” he stated. “I didn’t order my brother and sister killed.”

Within the
hour a new bulletin was issued.  “This
afternoon Congressman Any  Mann was found
dead in his office.  A note was found
beside his body.  Any had been described
as despondent by several of his close friends. A memorial will be held.”

The storm
was over and all was quiet.  The
organization was busy, however, looking for a new candidate, someone they could
package and sell.  It was not about
finding the best person for the job.  It
was simply a matter of merchandizing magic.
Tell the people what they want and then convince them that their desires
were granted.  Anything can happen in the
land where dreams come true.

 

 

“Where Are the Superheroes?”


Joker (comics)
Image via Wikipedia

I’ve always enjoyed the superheroes,

Someone to come and save the day,

Whenever there was trouble brewing,

They knew what to do and what to say,

I admired them because they stood for justice,

They protected man, woman, and child,

Evil was always stopped and punished,

It was never allowed to just run wild,

But while a child the world was my own,

In my imagination I was big and strong,

Evil was given no chance to stick around,

 I could change anything that went wrong,

As I grew older I could see the world needed heroes,

For few walked among us helping the abused,

And sometimes, to make matters even worse,

The heroes were there among those accused,

I determined that I would do my very best,

And as a parent I was a superhero for just a while,

But only because my children believed in me,

I could wipe away tears and bring back a smile,

But I could not rescue them from the trauma of divorce,

Nor could I keep the outside world from coming in,

I tried, but the world had found my kryptonite,

And I was doomed to watch the Joker’s grin,

Discouragement, doubt, I was powerless in time’s grasp,

The glitter of the world took my children from my side,

I could not protect them and keep them from pain,

They were being pulled away from shore by an awful tide,

They made their mistakes but found their way back,

But they had changed as much as changed can be,

 No longer were they naïve and innocent,

It was even worse, they were more like me,

I’m not a superhero, that is plain to see,

Evil forces are there and I cannot hold them back,

I’ve found that I can’t even rescue myself,

Many times I’ve tried, but there are powers I lack,

I must confess I’m under stress, to see the world so torn,

Where are the superheroes that will show to save the day?

Are they just imaginary like those in my childhood world?

Or must we all be heroes to keep from falling under evil’s sway?

The Poem Not Written


The Old English epic poem Beowulf is written i...
Image via Wikipedia

My poetry is a time of curiosity, of smiles,

And childlike satisfaction of using guile,

It is a gift, a talent, imagined or real,

That lets my heart express how I feel,

It shapes itself from thought to pen,

And stirs my soul to write again,

My muse is often witty when she has her say,

Mediocre poems are due to her really bad day,

They may be laden with imagery and flow,

Or fall flat on their faces with little to show,

But the worst poem of all is the poem not written,

It waits swollen with promise, as if snake bitten,

Stares forlornly as other poems strut their stuff,

And never ventures out, it’s not good enough,

Nor does it climb into one of my dreams,

Pestering to be written as a beautiful theme,

The poem not written gets left behind,

Forever out of sight, and finally out of mind.

Angry Birds


Yolk
Image via Wikipedia

For over a year,

There’s been increasing fear,

Birds against pigs,

Has made it big,

The birds’ survival is at stake,

And there’s a choice to make,

Revenge and lay waste,

Or just watch the pigs taste,

The eggs of the birds curious,

Oh, but that makes them furious,

An update on the continuing war,

“We won’t take it anymore,”

Quote the Angry Birds,

With their fast and furious words,

“Our nest has been violated,

The eggs were taken out,

I didn’t see a pig steal them,

But on one’s snout,

I saw part of an egg yolk,

Smeared on his face,

Even though he thought,

He left no trace,

Now we’re angry birds,

Taking flight,

With a little help,

They’ll see our might.”

If you’re opposed to war,

Choose to hear or see no more,

But if you can relate,

There’s already a new update,

They’re on Twitter and Facebook,

And iTunes if you look,

The birds are here and over there,

I think they’ll soon be everywhere.

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