My 250th Love about being American

250

In my previous blog (that got removed with the expiration of my work email) I started enumerating things I love about my country and being an American based on the number of years we have been a country. On our 250th birthday I want to continue that, and since I no longer have access to my old blog I might repeat myself. So be it.

This year I am inspired by my countrymen and their striving to make “a more perfect union.” I love how Americans protest against actions our government takes or doesn’t take. We believe in humanity over corporations and we continually struggle with that in our highly capitalistic society. We have protested in No Kings marches, Right to Life marches, Black Lives Matter protests, etc. Sometimes I can’t agree with the protests but I have to admire the people who refuse to be silenced. We have the freedom of speech and as a people we exert that right. That makes me unbelievably proud to be an American and, in spite of my English teacher misgivings, believe in more perfect.

 

Poem: Precipice

Precipice

Standing on a precipice jutting out 

Over a canyon, a hoodoo, perhaps

Is something I often envision of 

Myself, terrified that I might just fall

To a painful destruction like that gal

In Yellowstone while her entire fam’ly

Watched in horror, her body becoming

Like a jellied orb of a blinded man.

What did she fail to see that all her kin

Saw in blatant terror? That precipice

Upon which I had been photographed safe,

Like a twelve-year old’s first public speech

Trembling, nearly in tears but his mother

Smiles and tells him he did such a good job.

“Did you imagine us all in under-

Wear?” The ridiculousness of that all

So common instruction abruptly wakes

Me to my precarious standing here

On a hoodoo above the river that

Would carry me away if I could live

Through this fall that I am about to take.

February 2025

About This Poem

I was inspired to write this poem after seeing a photograph of me on a cliff in Canyonlands in Utah. Just looking at it terrifies me, so I don't know how I got brave enough to get out there. So, of course, the poem is about that fear of heights I have. The photo is of a Hoodoo at Smith Rock in Oregon.

 

Poem: Minimalist Enough

Minimalist Enough

My

pen

writes

words

that

sometimes

mean

something

to

me

and/

or

others

and

sometimes

(maybe

now?)

they

mean

absolutely

nothing.

Is that 

minimalist enough?

February 2025

About This Poem

I wrote this poem when I was trying different forms. The first stanza is made up of single words while the second is made up of two words (obviously) and the form was telling me it was minimalist. So, being confronted with a bit of writer's block with that form, I wrote this. The photo is from an artwork at the Museum of Glass in Corning, New York. It looks like a minimalist drawing, but since it is actually made of glass it probably is not so minimalist...

 

Poem: We Were Given the Stars

We Were Given the Stars

The stars on the flag unite in a

Blue sky that would render

Them meaningless if they fell

Apart. Living together like stars

Means space and orbiting

One another in mutual respect,

Not floundering meaninglessly

Adrift to collide exploding

Into nothing but cosmic dust.

United we stand, divided we fall

And I want nothing to do 

With the failure of falling

Nor the game of blaming,

Relinquishing any responsibility

To predecessors who could

Not be infallibly prescient.

We were given the stars

So let’s wish and dream

Upon those stars in the blue sky

Together.

January 2025

About This Poem

I think the bickering of politics is what inspired this poem. I get tired of it, even when I have my bouts of contributing to it. This poem expresses my belief in the promise of America and I think it is completely appropriate to publish this week now that we have been an independent nation for 250 years. Happy Birthday America! 

I took the photo in my backyard on a clear night. I'm amazed that you can actually point a phone at the dark sky and make out constellations. If you look, you'll see the Big Dipper (Ursa Major).

 

Poem: More Perfect

More Perfect

English teachers often say

That there is no such thing as

More perfect. But as Americans

From the get go said, “We the

People, in order to form a 

More Perfect Union…” It is

Undeniably clear that we

Were lying to ourselves.

We never even believed in

Perfection because we always

Thought we could make it

Better. We can strive for

Perfection all we want but, 

Because we don’t believe in it,

It can never be attained for us.

We will be forever inventing

And reinventing things for

Our never ending perpetuation of 

Perfection, a thing we don’t

Believe in, a thing that can

Never exist.

January 2025

About This Poem

This poem is a little more pessimistic than I usually am, but it was inspired by the political times. Right now we Americans are at each other's throats thanks to our President and his MAGA movement, which clearly divides us. I decided now was a good time to publish it as we are celebrating our 250th year as a nation. It deals with the opening words of our constitution. The photo is a flag at the Kennedy Presidential Library in Boston just a few months ago.

 

Poem: Coarse Here I Will Continue

Coarse Here I Will Continue

The size of the swell matters.

The sand on the seashore is

Ever present from the crashing 

Of the waves, its color marked

By the cliffs or banks against

Which the swell has beaten.

But an alpine lake in a

Granite outcropping? Even

With the granite’s pliability

If there is any sand it is

Coarse and not much of it

To be found and when it is

It’s like something grating

Into your skin that must 

Be dealt with before you are

Torn. While I love the crashing

Waves of the sea, their girthy

Pounding upon delicate shores,

I think of myself more in the 

Mountains with little ripples

Refusing to refine me.

Allowing my coarseness to stay

While miles away those big

Waves crash away refining

Those cliffs, coarse here I will continue.

January 2025

About This Poem

I love big bodies of water, and, it seems, in the American political and cultural landscape it is more refined to live on the coasts (coastal elitism). I don't actually believe any of that. You can find elitism anywhere in the U.S. as well as less than elite, or coarse. I don't really see myself as either elite or coarse, but I promote the idea of belonging. I feel like I belong on an alpine lake with very little beach, and what beach it has will be of very coarse sand. But obviously the poem also refers to another kind of coarseness, and I can embrace that sometimes as well. The photo is of Lake Louise in Banff, Alberta. It's definitely an alpine lake and one that I very much enjoy (though the smaller ones in Idaho where there are not crowds are even better). 

 

Poem: I Let the Music Envelop Me

I Let the Music Envelop Me

I let the music envelop me

As the instruments play beauty

I let myself become that song

Floating over the hills and over

The waters like a gentle breeze

Rustling a leaf here or there

Moved by the music I bring

Through nothing more than

Being. I desire no pain, no

Destruction of anything, just

Calming in my melodic presence

Sharing the beauty and peace 

Of the wishes of my composer.

I desire no competition with

Any other, but, alas, some

Will wish it so, to be equal 

To me or even better and

As the song I will sometimes

Become frenzied, wild even

With aching and longing

Beyond my natural desire

To glide calmly over hills and waters.

January 2025

About This Poem

I wrote this poem in response to my love of classical music and music in general. Classical music always seems to take me away and it is more than just background noise. It also encompasses so much emotion always. The photo is of me singing in a choir at Oxford, I believe in Exeter College chapel (but I'm not certain). I'm the guy in the middle with the strange reflection crossing my face and to the right is Randy Gutwein and Dennis Kaye.