Essays & Poetry (mine or others) pertaining to historical and current events and burning social issues.

Sunday, August 30, 2015

A Barefoot Walk on the Beach





















I had cajoled my friend into driving to the
Beach with the express purpose of taking
off our shoes and walking in the sand
Of course we fall in to talking about the
last time we were at the beach and
I remember that, for me, it’s been two years!
Oh my, how did I let that happen?
My friend has her smart phone and
that is how we find this somewhat not
too crowded beach at Ecola State Park
on the Oregon coast.
I have brought my camera to take seascapes
that I can use behind some nature poems
Unfortunately, my batteries are dead,
So I put upon Juliana to take some shots
for me with her smart phone…Ain’t the
21st Century a wonder?!
Later back home, she sends the photos
to me in jpegs…Incredible likeness to
what we saw…Immediately I am transported
back to the sounds, smells, wind and cold water
washes over our barefeet as we cross a little creek
that runs into the ocean…we see dead seagulls
sporadically along the beach-we count nine
before concern is voiced-what’s going on?
Juliana has captured a couple of breath taking
setting sun shots that I am drawn to…memory
jogged my mind wanders back to the dead
sea gulls…Why?!



RMK © August 2015

Wednesday, August 26, 2015

So, I Interview myself: What’s on your mind, Mad Poet?


Image result for free image of walking down a country road


Relief from my existential pain:
Writing a poem, a rant, praise, wonder
Reading poetry, memoirs, history or other eclectic literature
Walking miles and miles in good, comfortable shoes
Driving in the country, up the Gorge, to the beach
Yoga & Pilates
Bicycling anywhere
Having an icy beer and taking a nap on the couch
Note to self: Look up existential and make sure it is the right word-
Looked it up-it is precisely the right word-ugh!

Main source of existential pain right now?
Computers, in general, mine, imparticular
Which causes this niggling upper back pain-ugh!

What might improve your life right now?
A better job
More money
A true love
A house in the country
More trips to the beach
Balanced hormones
A joyous, skilled dance partner
Good conversation with a trusted friend
Search for TRUTH-research on various curiosities
Bioidentical hormones and
Natural thyroid medicine
Going back in time, sitting on the hood of the Massey-Ferguson tractor,
facing Pop, while he drives the harrow back and forth over the field
asking him pertinent questions about life….


RMK © 8-19-2015

Friday, August 21, 2015



"Indians scattered on dawn's highway bleeding
Ghosts crowd the young child's fragile eggshell mind." 

A response to “Dawn’s Highway” from Jim Morrison’s
An American Prayer album (poetry workshop assignment)

MIND CARNAGE

1.      Observation: smudged, gory blood, broken bones, torn flesh
2.      Smeared like an abstract painting all over highway
3.      Contrasted with desert backdrop of beiges & greys
4.      Family, out for a Sunday drive
5.      Child witness: youthful impressions
6.      Fragile, vulnerable with no context
7.      Adults do not explain
8.      Drive on, unable to communicate the horror
9.      The gore is branded on the young mind forever
10.   Egg shell of protection, not just cracked
11.   But, shattered
12.   Parents not knowing what to say or do
13.   Change the subject
14.   Child, stunned-hears no more
15.   The day is soon forgotten by parents]
16.   Not so, the little boy
17.   Reality sucks!
18.   Parents do the best they can
19.   Is it ever enough?
20.   Essentially, each soul is on its own
21.   To learn its own curriculum
22.   To press to hard
23.   Would obliterate.
RMK June 2015 ©



Wednesday, August 19, 2015

Homage!





Image result for free photos of Muriel Rukeyser
Muriel Rukeyser
1914-1980

Holy Shit! Muriel Rukeyser died at age 66!
And she’s in my Heritage Dictionary and
I am 66 and about as obscure as any writer
can be

Of course she went to Sarah Lawrence and
I acquired my degrees out West where
the only Ivy League school within spitting
distance is Stanford

And hells bells, I did not find out until
years after college that where I went
even mattered-country bumpkin that
I am-after all these years I have some
clue why I have struggled

The good news is: I am still breathing!
I can turn up my determination dial,
hire a publicist, and possibly make a
mark before I leave this planet-or not

At this point, it’s easier to read
Muriel Rukeyser online and see

what all the fuss was about!

Thursday, August 13, 2015

Looking Out the Window at the Starbucks on 8th Street

I am quite sure I am not the only one struck by a stranger's similarities to someone we have known and miss. Sometimes the resemblance is so uncanny, it takes great restraint not to approach what is right before your eyes. A chance glance was quite eery:
 Image result for free images of pretty woman in pink wearing sunglasses


A cupie doll brunette with Jackie Kennedy dark glasses
catches my eye
She looks like my long dead cousin Christy,
 who succumbed to stomach cancer many years ago…
my cousin Christy, who decided to get married on my 20th birthday and although we had always been close, let her mother persuade her not to let me be a brides maid because I was no longer a practicing Catholic…
my cousin Christy who took me and my daughter in for six weeks the summer I was divorcing…
My cousin Christy, who made us attend church while we
were in her household, but protested most adamantly
when my eight year old wanted to take communion
with her cousins
My cousin Christy, who bought us matching barrettes to
get the hair off our necks on a hot summer day…
my cousin Christy, who engineered, single-handedly, a camping trip to a state park because apparently she felt compelled to treat us like guests and entertain us…
my cousin Christy who cooked the best zucchini and onions smothered in melted chewy gooey parmesan that I had ever eaten…my cousin Christy, who had rheumatic fever as a child and they feared it would shorten her life
my cousin Christy died at 52…

There is a woman not twenty feet from me who is a dead ringer for my cousin Christy,
 who’s been in the grave a good decade
How can that be? I wonder…and the doppelganger is sipping a pink drink, too! 
That is so Christy!
I resist for all I am worth, the urge to ask the woman her name
That would be just too weird…
         As I watch the cousin Christy lookalike walk away,
 I feel a certain warm flush and think, 
perhaps Christy noticed  her, too…

Spring 2011

RMK