Hand in Hand

the days like the wind

go rushing by

a blur of feelings

sensitivities

aging proceeds 

the end is in sight

we know not whether

to laugh or cry.

often i think of

how far we have come

as together we

walked hand in hand

through tangles of troubles

love won the day

for that love I'd do

it all over again.

how can a heart

be full, you say

how can a heart

burst with joy

only when love's

unconditional

as your love - sweeping

fear and pain away.

so Happy Birthday to

my very best friend

lover and wife and

my champion

if you see a tear

'tis a sign of joy

as in love we walk on - 

hand in hand.

This poem is for the love of my life, Lois Anne.  

© 2011 by Jacob Anson.  All rights reserved.

Aliens & Immigrants

What was I to do
in the middle of the night
when the men came knocking hard
wearing starched black uniforms
with small red patches
as if they, like real soldiers
were deserving of medals for bravery
or at the least for staying alive
and now they were staying here
although I did not know them
and they did not explain
but merely looked at me curiously
as one would look at a stray cat
still I needed to relieve myself
but did not quite believe
these men in black were as benign
as they seemed to think
we thought they were
the problem was I did not wish
to wake my parents for the
tension in the house was like
wet plaster
and the only other bathroom
was on the bottom floor
which the men had commandeered
to establish a command post where
brittle new machines
cackling like old hens spat out information
and I heard names -
Jose and Jorge and Juan
Juanita and Carmen and Belinda
names of friends and relatives
and talk of fences and walls and
barbed wire
then at last I cried myself to sleep
'til just before the sun arose
when the men in black
got up to pee
their laughter muted, voices garbled
insinuations deadly as they bragged how
they had Trumped us and what would happen
if we were to try to flee.


Copyright © 2017 by Lowell A. Anderson.  All rights reserved.

Note:  This poem was cross-posted to Ocala, Central Florida and Beyond.

Shoot Someone - Ode to the NRA

Shoot Someone - Ode to the NRA

Shoot someone

anyone

that's what guns are for

Shoot the NRA

let them taste a bullet

that's what guns are for

Shoot your teacher

for all her lies

Shoot your neighbor

for his weedy grass

Shoot your kids

when they don't behave

Shoot your congressperson

for being incompetent

Shoot the illegals

for stealing your job

Shoot the minorities

who are stealing your country

Shoot the bankers

who are stealing your money

Shoot the crooks

working Wall Street

Shoot the warden

in the back

Shoot the priest for

his pretensions

Shoot the doctor

for her drugs

Shoot a gun

with hollow points

Shoot the homeless

on the street

Life is cheap

guns are cheap

shoot someone

anyone

That's what guns are for


Copyright © 2016 by Lowell A. Anderson

Where the hell did Monday go?

I got up from my nap

this afternoon

and wondered aloud

when golf came on TV

but then I thought

there’s no golf on TV

today is Monday

My dear wife said

no it’s not, this is Tuesday

I said -

Well, where the hell 

did Monday go?

Nobody knew.


Copyright © 2016 by Lowell A. Anderson

At the Barber Shop

I went to get a haircut
a trim, please, just above the ears
and don't forget to taper the back
I would have given more instructions
but I found it hard to speak
faced with fascist symbols
on the windows and the doors
and right there on his beak
which wobbled when
with nasal but polite invective
he trotted our the usual sneeze -
a political breeze - in an ineffectual plea
to dazzle me with all the specious
glories of the Right...

those denizens of capital
who whistle in the darkness
while dabbling in the night where they
conjure up methods to use their means to
strike the laws by which
we live and whereby we atone
with the hammer of their hairy, steely fists
so that what we thought
was made of Constitutional stone
turns into broken rubble in a stream
and idles meaninglessly down the mountainside
where the poor folks die alone.


Copyright © 2016 by Lowell A. Anderson.  All Rights Reserved.

That First Cup of Coffee

I left your bed this morning

when it was still warm

darkness meshed with

the cool morning air

a pool of gold

washed over the floor

the first flash of light

smashed into the window

painting a streak in your hair

I would paint you in oils

but I know not of art

when I got to the kitchen

the stove was still cold

so I made you fresh coffee

with the warmth of my heart.

Copyright © 2015 by Lowell A. Anderson

All right reserved.

Sunrise

The sun

 Breaks through

As a thief

In the night

Stealing the

Dark and 

The gloom.

Piercing the sky

To make room 

For the light

And the clouds

And the blues.

Erasing my

Dreams, my 

Schemes

My fear of

Having to pay

 My dues.

And offers

 A new day

 A new way

To live

With myself.

So I turn 

To face 

And bask 

In its rays

As it climbs  

To the clouds

And beyond

To the place 

Where it

 Deigns to shower

The world

With its grace.

Copyright © 2015 by Lowell A. Anderson.  All rights reserved.

I Had A Silly Cat

I Had A Silly Cat

Once upon a time

I had a silly cat

My silly cat was

Oh, so fat

It couldn’t catch

A rat unless 

That rat was

Really, really slow.

My silly cat could eat

However,

Ev’ry thing 

In sight

Breakfast 

In the morning

And once again

At night

She’d gotten 

Kinda heavy

She was quite

A sight

One might say

She was a tub

And you'd be

Absolutely right.

So it’s not 

Surprising that

My silly

Silly cat

Is just too big

And too damn fat

To go out and

Catch a rat.

Copyright © 2015 by Lowell A. Anderson.  All rights reserved.

Note:  The photo was stolen from the files of William Kendall, who blogs here.

Earth's Apocalypse

Earth's Apocalypse

This is not you know
A time for celebration
For fireworks
Explosions in the sky
Or dry Champagne.
It is a time when
Winds of war
Hate and terror
Sweep across
Planet Earth
When compared to
Yesterday nothing
Is the same.
Ironically crime is down
From Florida to Maine
And all the way to
California.
That is if we believe
The media, police and
The politicians
Not that they would ever
Lie except in an
Emergency or perhaps
If they had a growing need
To put more feathers
In their nest.
One might say
It all began
In the days of Reagan
When a B-grade actor
Became president and
Gave weapons
To our friend
Osama bin Laden so
He could fight the Russians
In Afghanistan
And send them running back
To Russia thereby
Freeing up the land.
Then George the First
Called up the troops to
Fight Iraqis even though
They'd been our friends
In their fight against Iran.
But now he said
They are our enemies
And a danger
To the Saudis
Bush owed the
Saudis big-time so
He sent our troops to die
To save Kuwaiti oil
But he left Iraq too soon
Before the job was done
Which left a lot to be desired
And old Hussein in place
Which George the Younger
Thought was bad
And made him
Very mad though it is said
That he was mad
From his youth
And seldom gave a thought
To reason or to
Common sense.
So George the Younger
Went to war but sent
The young and bold and those
Who had no other options
To spill their blood again
So he could at last avenge
His daddy's dithering
Although he lied of course
About everything
Which wasn't strange at all
To those who knew him when.
Today Iraq's a hole in hell
The Middle East aflame
It might have happened anyway
But Bush is much to blame
For thousands lost their
Homes and lives
Many went insane
And in the good old USA
Instead of going to jail
Bush is given accolades
"Fare thee well," and "Hail!"
Sadly too
George left a mess
A country deep in debt
His tax cuts made the rich
Even richer yet.
Then Obama came along
Couldn't catch a break
When he tried to do
The things he couldn't do
With a Congress full of fools
People jeered
Called him a Muslim
And a Marxist too.
Republicans attacked
Fought him tooth and nail
While they left the country
To fester and to fail
So they could blame
The President
And set a precedent
Which would get them
Re-elected.
It may be too late now
To turn this thing around with
Just two minutes left
On the Doomsday clock.
Most folks do not seem to care
Politicians run and hide
When asked what they have done
To stop the seething searing
Heat that's scorching
Mother Earth.
The Second Coming you should know
Is nothing but a myth
And Armageddon mere nonsense
But don't take that to mean
That we'll survive or
Make it through
The earth's Apocalypse!

Copyright © 2015 by Lowell A. Anderson.  All rights reserved.

Believe It Or Not

Believe It Or Not

(With apologies to Job, the Psalmist, and Ecclesiastes)

I sat upon the bed

Of a shiny pickup truck

And watched the 

People passing by

Parading homo sapiens

Hoping they would

Live forever but knowing

They were

Born to die.

And I called God to account

I asked why he or she was

Conspicuously

Inexplicably

Missing in our life's equation?

Why, as the world

Convulses with

Horrendous violence

Is he or she

Deafeningly silent?

You can't, I said

Have Chosen Ones, the

Holocaust showed us that!

But do you care

For anyone?

What about the children

Beaten bloody

Raped and murdered

By your children in the bush?

Or in Middle Eastern

Desert lands where 

It's said you gave

Birth to laws and goodness

But that too was a lie

As the Caananite women

And their kids

Learned to their

Great sorrow.

Or other humans in

Those same lands -

Iraq and Syria - who today

Hang on with fingernails

Chewed to the bone

In fear of horrors too

Explicit to describe

In mere words.

So where are you now

If you weren't there before?

Is is perhaps better to

Not believe than to be

Left with such a

Paradox of might

And misery.

Unless, of course, it's 

All a lie and has always

Been a lie

That you are nothing

More than a scrubby

Semite's dream.

But please stop laughing

It's not funny anymore

To the people tortured

Killed in your good name

Even in the USA - 

Where people pray

To you each day

And know that you

Want them to say

They trust in you

On signs and

On their money, too -

Tortured people in the

Name of all that's

Good and right and...

Godly.

Righteousness defined

As water boarding

Because the swine

Did not deserve to

Live and we know that

You will forgive as 

This is the land

You founded with

Our founders who 

Were good Christians

Just like you.

So why do you desert us

Why hide your face

In troubled times

We don't know what to do

You've given us too little

Information.

And so we must conclude

You don't exist you're

Just a ghastly fiction

An apparition we no

Longer need for we 

Know how it all began

And it wasn't in 

The desert sand

And there isn't one

Thing you can do

To heal our broken

Hearts and lives

And bring back all

Those we have lost

To those who said

They believed in you.

[Copyright © 2015 by Lowell A. Anderson.  All rights reserved.)

More of the Same But I Can't Complain

More of the Same But I Can't Complain

The hours, the days

They turn the gears

Grind down my dreams

Settle my fate

Yes, it's a shame

But I can't complain.

They looked away

When I tried to sing

The songs in my heart

But they've heard

Them before

And that's a real shame

But I can't complain.

A loss or a gain

Time is a wheel

Fleeting is fame

Sometimes we fail

To do what is right

I know it's a shame

But I can't complain.

It is what it is

And I've seen a lot

But there's much 

More to come

And time's flyin' by

I know it's a shame

But I can't complain.

© 2014 by Jacob Anson/Lowell A. Anderson.  All rights reserved.

Why Grandma Shot the Preacher-Man

I wrote this poem several years ago to counter the so-called religious healers.  One would think their scams would fade away in light of our increased scientific knowledge.  But that is not the case, they are still out there, on radio and TV, making their pleas for money and promising they can heal just about anyone of anything.

They can't.  They are crooks, charlatans, scam artists!


Grandma is a pistol-packin'
Mama of a type
She doesn't like phony folks
Despises all their hype.
Mealy-mouthed, shifty-eyed
Characters she spurns
She's been down that road before and
She's been badly burned.

It started on a cloudless day
She met herself a man
He was tall and neatly dressed
Said his name was Sam.
He took Grandma dancing
Almost ev'ry night
She concluded way too soon
That he was Mr. Right.

But love hit Grandma big time
When Sam learned Grandma's secret
See, Grandma had a wooden leg
She hid with maxi skirts.
Now Sam, he said he didn't mind
Told her she was fine
She hugged him with her bony frame
Several hundred times.

Alas, alack, Grandma's back
Gave out one crazy night
She screamed and cried and poor ol' Sam
Damn near died of fright!
Ol' Doc Watson said she'd prob'ly
Never walk again
Without a cane or lots of help
From someone name of Sam.

Solicitous and very sweet
Sam told Grandma 'bout his friend
A preacher-man, blessed by God
Why he could cast out sin.
And more than that, he could heal
Broken backs and bones
'Course it wasn't cheap, you know
He'd help Grandma get a loan.

"Come on," said Sam, "let's hear the man
"His tent's just out of town
"Bring your checkbook just in case
"He's got your healing' down."
Ol' Grandma was a little skeered
But hurt, she went along
In fact, she ended up on stage
Before the final song.

The preacher-man grabbed her head
With great big woolly paws
He saw the devil in her eyes
Said that was sure the cause
Then he bent and whispered soft
Hands tight around her neck
"I can make you well again
"Just write a little check."

Grandma barely breathing now
Cried rasply, "I...yi...yi!"
The preacher-man yelled "Hallelujah!"
A glint in gleaming eyes.
But Grandma learned very fast
The whole thing was a farce
'Cause when the preacher-man cried "Heal!"
She fell upon her arse!

The jury ruled it self-defense
Said any fool could see
The preacher-man and Sam were bad
And it was meant to be.
Grandma caught and shot them both
When they was slipping out of town
And if they try that scam again
They'll do it sitting down!


© 2014 and 2006 by Lowell A. Anderson (Ansohn).  All Rights Reserved.

Anesthetic Anesthesia

[This is for Heather]

Anesthetic Anesthesia

A friend of mine

Cannot spell

Anesthetic.

She's been confused

By a spell

Of amnesia.

It's really quite

Pathetic!

I, sad to say,

Cannot spell

Anesthesia.

When someone asked

Where does that

Leave ya?

I said

Probably

Asleep!

[Copyright © 2014 and 2006 by Lowell A. Anderson]

The Candidate - Flashback to 2012

I was not born with 

A silver spoon

He said

Eyes glinting

As a creeping 

Smile slid

Across his political

Face.

We lived in a 

Basement apartment

Like regular folks

She said

Stepping out of a

60s sitcom

All fluffy and 

Full of lace

As is right

For a woman 

Who knows

Her place.

They said

We had to live

On returns from

Investments

It was hard

We even got

Regular haircuts

And ate at McDonalds'

Unless daddy and mommy

Took us out

Or gave us money

For the rent.

So, we know all about

You poor folks

Struggling to

Pay the bills

And feed the kids

With college ahead

We suggest you

Get money from 

Your folks and

Live in a tent.

And when you 

Get old

Become a Mormon

Mormons take care

Of one another

By piling up money

And stowing it

Away for a 

Rainy day

And Mormons 

Don't need 

No government.

Copyright © 2014 by Jacob Avram/Lowell A. Anderson
All rights reserved

The Teacher

Some years ago, Lois Anne taught GED classes, which were established to help adults who had for one reason or another dropped out of school, earn their high school diplomas.  Lois Anne was the finest teacher I have ever met.  The following poem was written in appreciation of her love for learning and her extraordinary ability to connect with the lives of her students.


The Teacher

Sometimes I see you,
A vision in the corner
Of my eye -
Reaching out to touch
The minds of those
Stretching, seeking to
Learn to understand
Lessons long passed by...
Your grace apparent, the
Joy you give,
The pleasure pure as
Dawning light arrives;
A burst of insight
Birthing hope
Where hope, bereft, had died.

Pride quite often
Overcomes the sensibilities
Of my mind.
A rose in bloom,
Your tenderness
Lends fragrance to
Suspend fear.
So, free to be
They come to you
Faith seeking to be fed;
A dream begun
They turn in trust
Needing to be led
By gentle smile
Soft-spoken word.
Your wisdom is the spark
That leads them on
To dream again.
Your life has left its mark.


Copyright © by Jacob Avram/Lowell A. Anderson.  All rights reserved.