Honey molasses rolls March 30, 2016Posted by vsap in Blogroll, Poetry, Uncategorized.
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Baking honey molasses rolls on a fresh spring morning,
I sat with my coffee steaming like the water around Seattle
and heard a robin in mourning
although it could have been a jay making the undergrowth rattle.
I was in no position to investigate as curious as I might be.
My inertia was greater than the will to learn so I let it pass,
and I wondered if the lone robin anxiously clinging to a pine tree
understood its partner’s fate and would learn to let it pass.
Likely, since life goes on for one even if the other is gone
whether by natural causes or foul play or divine intervention.
The robin, the jay, they all nest in their own songs
and there is no guile, no malice, guiding their intentions.
Absently stirring my coffee with a plastic spoon although its black
I listened to the wind, scent of rolls from my retreat
and I see tall pines get taut then after a breeze go slack
but honey molasses rolls are calling me back to sneak a treat.
Jewish vegan cattle rancher of North Texas March 11, 2016Posted by vsap in Blogroll, Fiction, Poetry, Uncategorized.
I don’t eat meat so it’s one of God’s little ironies that I am here,
no Synagogue nearby and a hundred thousand acres of roaming cattle.
Actually, I’m Canadian, too, as if the career isn’t confusing enough,
as if Seinfeld, if he knew, wouldn’t generate a brilliant observation of all this.
You’d probably think there aren’t many Jews in Winnipeg
but you’ve got the Internet now, check it yourself.
I know it seems this is some sort of Wit Sec joke, you know,
my Dad being covered for ratting out Meyer Lansky or something.
That’s not it, not even close, and surely not as colorful as all that.
Sure, I’ve got a ten-gallon hat that might make you confuse me
with Toby Keith, just reading this where you are, until you see me
and realize my stature and demeanor are closer to Steve Goodman’s,
God rest his soul.
No, Dad bought this spread with money saved working various jobs
then owning a”dry goods”store in St. Germaine.
He bought and ran the ranch, groomed me, as you might expect,
and I took over in 1980.
He lived until 2000, but I didn’t see him much after 1985,
when my Mother died, and he decided life would be better in Hollywood,
that’s Florida, and so he spent most of the year there, harassing
young women, if I had to make a guess, but maybe just enjoying
the company of others like him from Brooklyn and Queens.
Although, I have to say, I can’t imagine what an old cattle rancher
could possibly have in common with his city rat cousins.
I suspect he knew more about the Baptist Church than most Baptists,
they were the people he did business with, and I do today, but I just
don’t partake of barbecue and the pork roasts on their spits.
Dad did well, to be sure, this land is precious and others have tried
to buy it or get me to lease parts for other purposes but I don’t see it.
Blossom was good enough for him and I certainly know it’s been
a good enough town for me. However…
Now and then, I think I’d like to try some pork rinds or ribs.
What could it hurt?
Users use fools, fools have nothing to use March 2, 2016Posted by vsap in Blogroll, Financial Crisis, Poetry.
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Excuses abound and friends abandon each other
like lunch yesterday never happened, like a shared vacation last year
Yes, we have responsibility to self first in this business world,
experience teaches us promises are vapor, like breath hanging
in a Chicago January day, like paper wrappers blowing down I-94.
Trying to remain valiant and altruistic, maybe a little naive,
it’s easy to be hit by that metaphorical Mac truck missing its red light
and consequences lay heavy upon those unaware, unprepared.
Every eyewitness sees it differently, their perspectives shaded by
their pasts or simply the angle of view and even they say,
“I don’t think I would have done anything different.”
So the boss gives the white knight speech, it’s all for the best,
new goals to pursue, new horizons with new sunrises and sunsets,
and while all of this is true, when the moment arrives,
there’s no level of education, no worldly wisdom releases the pain.
Sure, there’s humiliation, recrimination, fright, loss, and anger.
And it is the last one that is replayed on TV news all the time.
Lose your job, go “postal” – a bad rap for the Postal Service since
it doesn’t happen frequently there at all. Sound-bite history.
Most simply choose to suffer in silence, sometimes alone,
separated from family, never again willing to trust a friend or colleague,
those bastards who so easily dispose of people who open themselves up.
Users use fools and fools have nothing to use.
So much for honesty, integrity, a little ego and ambition, sadly,
none of those things can feed a family or move a career along.
Yet, finding a way is all we have. Rugged individualism colored by
tough love and as the severance package is read to us we think