THE PRICE OF FREEDOM

My father fought in World War II. He knew what he was fighting for.

He lost most of his hearing in a foxhole…in that war to end all wars.

“It is but a small price to pay.” He’d say. “This hearing that I lack.”

“For many of those I fought with…” he paused..never made it back.”

“None of us were warriors…just kids doing what we thought was right.

for, sometimes, when it comes to freedom… 

you have no choice but to fight.”

Many people fought in that war…They fought for you..they fought for me.

They fought so we could live in a country…where we are safe…where we are free.

They fought for our freedom to be who we are…They fought for our diversity…

They fought for our freedom to be different…our freedom to disagree.

They knew freedom would not be easy…It’s why they fought that war…

They knew freedom could be a struggle

Of course…that’s what they were fighting for.

I will proudly stand when our flag is raised…I’ll stand from sea to shining sea…

And I will proudly stand with my hand on the shoulder of anyone who takes a knee.

We must listen to one another…

And come together across this land….

We must build a country that, every time our flag is raised,

all the people will proudly stand.

Because freedom is not dictatorial…it’s not oppressive

It’s not demanding….

Freedom is acceptance…it is patience….

It’s compromise and understanding. 

But we seem to have forgotten that in America…

and it begs the question HOW…

How can I justify all those soldiers who died…

and my father losing his hearing…

if we refuse to listen to each other now?

WHEN DOES FRIENDSHIP FORM?

Have you ever wondered when friendship forms? 

When is that one moment in time…random people come together…

and their worlds begin to rhyme?

Have you ever wondered if their are people walking…who have yet to comprehend…

there are other people…also walking…who were destined to be their friends?

People who walk separately into a room…and from the moment they arrive

feel in their hearts…and souls…they’ve known each other all their lives.

Do they sense it in their greeting?

Can they feel their friendship rise?

Is it somewhere in their smile?

Can they see friendship in their eyes?

They begin to share their stories…share their laughter…share their woes…

Is it in between their laughter…Is that where friendship grows?

Or am I giving it too much thought?

Is it impossible to know what feelings initially bind them…

Perhaps when it comes to friendships…

We should feel lucky when we find them.

Lucky knowing we have some friends …we’ve had since we were young

Friends who we grew up with…with whom we’ve laughed and loved and sung.

Lucky knowing we can make new friends…who, when added to the old,

make our life eve more magnificent…make it a wonder to behold…

Perhaps that is the beauty of friendship…what makes it so astonishing…and sweet..

Knowing we have old friends…and new friends…

and friends we’ve yet to meet.

THE THIIGS I DO NOT KNOW

I have an affinity for Socrates…that philosopher from long ago…

Who said, wisdom comes from knowing…there’s so much we do not know.

There is an upside to living a life where so many times you have no clue…

For every day holds new mysteries…and many things seem new.

I do not know the names of clouds as they float across the sky…

So each cloud seems as beautiful as the next one drifting by.

I do not know the names of all the birds…who soar upon the breeze

So each bird seems as beautiful as the next one in the trees.

I do not know one bird’s singing from the next bird I happen to hear…

So each bird song is as beautiful as the last to my ears.

I do not know the names of all the flowers…I’ve never found the need…

So I am free to find the beauty in ever flower…every weed.

Yes, everyday I feel lucky to walk the world with innocent eyes

where every new path is an adventure…every new day…a surprise.

And as I walk amidst the beauty and watch nature put on her show…

I thank the universe…and Socrates…for all the things I do not know.

LIVING OUR CHILDHOOD

We are spending a week at a camp for adults…It’s a beautiful place to be.

Deborah’s taking Thai cooking…me….photography.

I heard a woman say this morning…it’s been a long time since they felt this good…

She though being here for a week is like reliving their childhood.

I don’t quite agree with her assessment…I think with each new sunset…each new dawn

The child we once were long ago may have changed but is never gone.

What if every day the me I am joins other past me’s in a giant reservoir?

What if we are continually synthesized into the people who we are?

In a way aren’t we constantly adding to ourselves--each day we just change the sum…

as we evolve from every person who we were, and are, into who we will become.

And although we may not ever again be that particular child...this one fact I know:

We awake each morning to embrace the wisps of that child from long ago.

Sure responsibilities and obligations may change life’s roller coaster ride

but we needn’t worry about that child...he has never left our side.

That child is still a part of Deborah…that child is still a part of me…

As she learns how to cook spicy Thai food…and I learn photography.

Yes, I’m proud to say our children never left us…and I doubt they ever would…

because for 65 years and counting now…we’ve been living our childhood.

AND STILL I PRAY

When I was young I attended Catholic school...but while there, along the way

My God was beaten out of me, yet for some reason...I still pray?

I see religions fostering hostility and no longer am I awed

As I watch people hate, maim and kill each other all in the name of god..and still I pray.

I hear young girls and boy kidnapped into sex trafficking…and I think how can this be?

I see refugees around the world so afraid they have to flee…and still I pray.

I see leaders threatening war…do they know this is not a game?

I hear hatred spewing from our leaders mouths…and I feel sad…I feel ashamed…and still I pray.

I see countries, after centuries of war, whose arsenals of death each day increase

Continuing to believe after all this time that war can lead to peace...and still I pray.

I see people destroying or polluting many of our resources here on Earth 

who forget, or worse don’t care, about its value or its worth..and still I pray.

I see bullying so pervasive it’s leading children to suicides

I see dictators abolishing human rights, I see massacres and genocides...and still I pray

For beneath this shroud of sorrow, in a world that’s tearing itself apart

I see many people who prove our world still has honor...still has heart.

There is a constant struggle between good and evil and though evil gets more press

Perhaps as each new day begins we need to reassess.

Evilness is more pervasive, more obvious...it’s a more visible paradigm

Goodness is more subtle, more inconspicuous and takes a little time.

If you’re keeping score between good & evil and what people of the world are choosing

I can’t be sure, but I think right now, it’s goodness that is losing.

But perhaps one day goodness will prevail...yes...perhaps one day...

Hoping good will overwhelm the bad...ah...perhaps that’s why I pray.

THE PESSIMISITIC OSE

Today we celebrate Shel Silverstein’s birthday. A very talented man who, among other things, wrote the Giving Tree and Where The Sidewalk Ends…today’s poem is a celebration of his style and if he were alive today I would say…Shel, I’m sorry for this but it’s the best I can do.

THE PESSIMISTIC NOSE

The nose was complaining to the eyes one day

He said, “I’m feeling a little blue.

Why is there only one of me

while there are two of you.”

“How in the world of body parts am I ever to compete

with the likes of 2 eyes, 2 ears, 2 arms, 2 legs…

and don’t forget 2 feet?”

“I’m not sure how it happened, but it’s plain for me to see…

no other part of the body could have it worse than me?”

Just then the underarms spoke up, “Nose you’re making such a fuss…

What are you so worked up about…when you could be one of us.”

“We never see the light of day.

It’s warm and dark inside this place we dwell

Hair is growing everywhere…and can we talk about the smell?

The feet were next to add their opinion, “As far as anxiety goes,

is there any part more worse off…than the space between our toes?”

“They don’t have their own identity, like the finger or footprint.

They only connect the toes together…and collect both dirt and lint.

Finally a voice boomed out from down below, “I wish I had a tear to shed…

I’d change places with any of you…any day.”

is what the anus said.

TO SING AMONG THE BIRDS

TO SING AMONG THE BIRDS

Frances used to take him walking in the woods…they would listen to the trees

They would stop to touch the flowers…watch the butterfly and bees.

Frances loved to walk amidst the birds…she knew them all by name…

She did not have a favorite one…for she loved them all the same.

She would say how beautiful are their songs…their melodies without words….

“Oh I would give anything.” she often wished…”to sing among the birds.”

When he heard Frances had passed away…the Frances he adored…

he quickly ran into the forest…to the place where they explored.

How they loved to walk in these woods..over the years so many wonders they had found…

But he was not expecting today…what he discovered on the ground.

He was thinking about Frances…when suddenly he heard

plaintive cries from up above…was that the moaning of a bird?

He looked around and then he saw it…just a few steps up ahead…

A baby bird had fallen from the nest…the baby bird was dead.

He scooped her up as gently as he could…and in a voice both sad and calm

he looked up in the tree and said, “I’m sorry!” to the mom.

A tear cascaded down his cheek…he looked into her mother’s eyes…

And as he listened to her somber tweet…he wondered…do birds could cry?

He nestled the bird within his hands…she was a beautiful shade of blue…

He carried her back to his front porch…unsure what else to do.

He smiled as he thought of Frances…and it was easy to decide.

He filled an old shoe box with cotton…then laid the bird inside.

He took that box back back to the woods…then got on his hands and knees

And with mom (and Frances) watching….he buried her beneath that tree.

“Don’t be too sad, momma bird.” He said.  “I’m as sad as you are too.”

But your baby’s up with Frances now…and she knows what to do…”

The he looked up to the heavens…searching in his heart for the right words…

“I think Frances got her wish.” He said…”she’s now singing with the birds.”

The momma bird landed on a lower branch…she tweeted a lullaby

As boy and bird found their own way…to say their last good-bye.

WHEN THE MORNING COMES ALIVE

It happens every morning in the mountains a little after 5.

The weary evening begins to ebb and the morning comes alive.

The stars, the moon and the dark of night are all fading

There’s a stillness in the air…

and in the silent tranquil interlude…you gradually become aware

that you’re about to witness one of natures awe-inspiring gifts…

You watch the ebony blanket of evening slowly start to lift…

and out of the evening’s residue the morning begins to peek…

and somewhere in the darkness…the first bird begins to speak…

She clears her throat at first, and I imagine, flaps her wings

then stands up tall upon her branch and sings and sings and sings.

Then another bird begins to sing…her original morning song

until the mountain is a chorus of birds…harmoniously singing along.

As the night pulls back her blanket…the day can now expand

and you barely have time to catch your breath as sunlight glides across the land. 

Every space that was cloaked in darkness is now bejeweled in light

and you smile at how magically…day has replaced the night.

And you feel lucky you were there to witness…this brand new day arrive…

And blessed to have experienced the wonder…

when the morning comes alive.

A RIVER OF DAYDREAMS

The sky was filled with clouds today they hugged the mountains…hanging low…

As a breeze picked up and the leaves were falling…I stopped to enjoy the show.

As I watched the clouds move across the sky…sometimes independently…sometimes intertwined…

They changed their appearance right before my eyes…

and different stories crossed my mind.

A cat was being chased by a dog…the cat looked quite chagrined… 

A herd of sheep came floating by being shepherded by the wind.

A tall sailing ship formed suddenly…was it filled with pirates on this day…

But, with the wind at its sails, that pirate ship…quickly faded away..

It turned into a castle…complete with turrets…all afloat.

Was that a knight in shining armor…on the drawbridge o’er the moat?

I saw a rabbit, a rather large one I saw a monkey and a mouse

A rhinoceros, and a lion…and an elephant on a house.

I saw the mouth of a monster open and eat a cupcake in one bite…

and a whale right behind them…with a whale of an appetite.

These stories swirled above me…clouds mixed with blue sky and sunbeams…

It was as if I was sitting on the quiet bank…beside a river of day dreams.

As their forms continued changing…like a silent movie…never loud… 

I had to wonder if great storytellers…have drawn inspiration from the clouds…

A JOURNEY OF SURVIVAL

Life is a series if journeys…not all of them on the map…

A myriad of adventures…that some times overlap.

We look at these overlapping journeys as a gift we’ve been bestowed 

and we endeavor to enjoy the ride…no matter how bumpy the road.

Take, for instance, the journey of expectant parents…

It’s begun in euphoria as they anticipate their new arrival…

but if it is death not birth that greets them…

It becomes a journey of survival.

They wonder how this happened…how did this tragedy come about?

So many questions flood their minds…they fight hard…

but they can’t keep them out?

Why did our baby’s heart stop beating? Will our broken hearts ever mend?

Why did this have to happen to us? Will our sadness ever end?

How do we overcome our sorrow? For it’s difficult to remember when…

we were ever filled with happiness…and will we ever be happy again?

The first time it rains they look out the window…they weep and they hurt and they moan…

as they wonder if their baby’s staying dry…and they hate that she’s all alone.

Friends and family try to be helpful…they remind them they have their whole life ahead…

but they don’t understand how hard it is to go on living…when a part of you is dead.

So secretly they come up with a plan…a plan that has beauty and solace and art.

They know their baby can’t grow in this world…so you allow him to grow in their heart.

And they begin to wonder what she’d look as she grows up…how tall…how much would she weigh.

What would he be doing with his life…if he were alive today?

And they keep her memory alive…although she is now but a distant star….

So they will recognize him and he them…once they have, too, have crossed the bar…

Yes life is filled with a series of journeys…over hills and valleys and knolls…

Burt sometimes the most beautiful journeys in life…are the journey within our own souls.

A PHILOSOPHY ABOUT PETS

I once had a philosophy about having a pet…let me now review it…

I use to ponder one basic question…why do people do it?

Why spend all that money, all that time…all that worry, all that doubt

all that cleaning, all that caring…I mean…what’s that all about?

Why put yourself through all the troubles you know you’re going to go through…

Why give unconditional love to an animal who’s going to die before you do?

Until we got a pet of our own…I didn’t know how one animal could reach us…

how, through their devotion and their love…they had so much they could teach us.

They teach us about happiness…their joy is never to be denied…

They teach us about loyalty…for they never leave our side.

They teach us about friendship…with them there’s no pretension 

They teach us about gratitude…they are happy with attention. 

They teach us how to love and be loved…they teach lessons we need to learn

Like how giving is only genuine…when you ask for nothing in return.

They teach us how life is short…and when it’s their time to leave

They teach us about sadness…they teach us how to grieve.

They teach us how life must go on…for once they bid adieu…

They teach us how grieving is not something we get over…

it’s something we get through.

And they lead us to wonder if there is a heaven…

is it a place where pets will sing?

And are there some angels in heaven…who prefer fur instead of wings?

Yes, over the years my philosophy about having a pet has changed…

Let me now review it…

Now the one basic question I ponder is…

why don’t more people do it?