Au Petit Hotel Rouge

A splash of color --
much needed by this dark page
and by its author.
Though the winter's temperatures
were mild,
its palette limitations
were severe.
While we can survive on gray & white,
as prisoners on bread & water,
we cannot flourish
without a richer hue.

RM

bowl of hope

as uncertain as

rolling waves upon the sea

the return of cranes

-arem

We Visit the City

A few days of anniversary wanderings, combined with a business meeting, found us in the city - not our natural habitat. I managed to point to the ground under a lot of tall, modern buildings & told Nancy about the great things that used to be there. For some reason, she tires of that after only 48-72 hours. No damned stamina, that's her problem. Still, I ought to be entertaining, so I began to point out the few old buildings which remain, telling stories of women friends who lived here and there, in the days of my youth - in this turret or behind that leaded window - and she was still less than enthralled. Hard one to figure out, she is.

Benediction

Illusions

If life is just an illusion, it’s a
very good one to have you in it.
If you are just an illusion, I’m
glad to have been fooled.
If you have no illusions, it’s good
of you to suffer this fool.

- Ralph Murre

And now: a few days of silent reflection. -Arem

Season

Scenario for a Short Film


Storm clouds part
As skiffs and scows
Ply their trade
Dotting this northern port

Messengers, sailing
Shore to shore
Through veils of mist
Sometimes appear

A piano is moved
To a house on the hill
And played by four hands
Who know it well

Chords of harmony float
To weathered docks below
Where old men tend the ships
That carry their hearts

Sweet berries ripen
In the brambled thickets
Of the hidden
And sheltered coves

While some wait there
And understand
The things that drift in
From open waters beyond

Nightfall reveals
Sistine constellation
Of outstretched fingers
Almost touching and

Those who watch the sky
Shake their heads, for
This is not the season
For these stars


- Ralph Murre

investment opportunity

Not exactly insider information, but I'm betting heavily on South Dakota Coat Hangers, Inc.
Their home office is, appropriately, in Yankton, SD 57078

A Sonnet, they cried, A Rhyming Sonnet!

Inn of a New Day

A green bough hangs over the door ajar,
symbol of life, though freshly cut from it.
Enter here silent, walker from afar,
brave at the dawn, en route to the summit.
Ahead is What Is and the table set,
What’s Not lies forgot, halfway down the slope.
What Will’s still asleep, upstairs in his bed,
What Might Be has yet to be seen. I hope
you’ll eat well and work quiet with What Can,
“life’s too short” is a refrain best unsung.
Do try not to wake the ugly What Can’t,
life’s long enough for what needs to be done.

At sunset, plant a tree for tomorrow.
There’s time to celebrate; none for sorrow.

- Ralph Murre

Leery of Evolution

I like to picture myself as a free thinker, a clear thinker - the sort of guy who crawled out from under the barbed-wire of religion's prison-camp and never looked back. Still, doesn't that kind of person have to believe in something, or someone? We're certainly expected to believe in Science and Education-via-University, and if we possess a shred of intelligence, we absolutely, positively, MUST believe in the theory of evolution. And I'm trying, I really am.

Evolution, as I understand the concept, ought to work for the advancement of the species, right? So George W. ought to be better suited to the job than George Washington was? I'm not seeing it, but that's only a couple of hundred years. Let's increase the time-span tenfold: J. Falwell vs. J. Christ; again, hard for a layman, such as myself, to see the improvement. Madonna ca. year zero vs. Madonna ca. year two thousand ? Hmmm.

If Neanderthals are passe, how do they get elected? If the university-educated are the epitome, why is so much of their poetry so dreadful? Moses could part the Red Sea, but the Corps of Engineers can't handle Lake Pontchartrain?

If Wonder Bread was such a wonder, why haven't you had a slice in years? Weren't loin cloths at least as comfortable as B.V.D.'s or Jordache? Wasn't the Pontiac GTO better-looking than the Pontiac Aztec? Don't the wild turkeys in my woods appear to be as smart as the ButterBalls fattening up behind the fence? How many generations of mosquitos have passed in the last sixty-something years? Thousands, I suppose, but they're as annoying as when I was a boy.

You might argue that we no longer look much like the people portrayed in Egyptian glyphs, with their heads on sideways & all, but I ask: didn't Erasmus of Rotterdam write better essays than this?

- Ralph Murre

a follow-up question: If The Big G didn't like the idea of evolution, why create scientists?

- arem

watersign

as the ocean pulls

at the mountain stream, so too,

at watersign hearts

- arem

for you, a little story

A dolphin calls the doctor's office; the nurse asks, "What is the purpose of your call?"

"Vy, I am the porpoise of my call," says the dolphin, "my vife, she is dead long ago from the nets, and all the little porpoises svim avay; they don't call. I am an old dolphin who can no longer sing."

"Can't carry a tune, huh?" says the nurse.

"Carry a tuna ?!! I tell you I am an old dolphin, I haf no more the strength to carry a tuna."

"Perhaps it's your diet," says the nurse, "have you felt like fish?"

"Gefilte fish ?!! Oy! Already three times a day vit the gefilte fish -- and you vant I should eat more?!!"

"Not so fast," says the nurse, "for best results, I must transcribe."

"Matzos - fast - then schmalts, you prescribe?" says the dolphin,

"Thank you."

"Good bye."


- Ralph Murre

*those wishing to do more research on related topics are advised to begin at the following site > > > http://www.cyber-kitchen.com/recipes/Gefilte_Fish_Story.htm

To the Dogs

for the last time

fetched up in the weeds

no bailing out

- arem

Newspaper

> > > > > http://www.bleidoorcountytimes.com/ < < < < <

So! Come see dis once, Edna.

See? Now dis here iss sumptin to look at, hey. Dis guy sounds like he might know Plum Bottom from a hole in da gound, aina? He sounds dam near like da kinda guy ain't got no real estate to sell. Don't live in no condom. By Gott, ya, hey! He sounds almost like da kinda guy I woot buy a beer. No, no, don't worry Edna . . . I sez he sounds ALMOST like dat kinda guy.

Now Hear This!

photo by Nancy Vaughn

Very excited to announce that five of my poems (well, four poems and a catchy little lyric to an old favorite tune) have come on line at the first-rate literary ezine, Word Riot. Their front page is at http://www.wordriot.org/ , and the direct link to my poems is, I believe, http://www.wordriot.org/template.php?ID=784 . Check it out.

The Elders

photo by Koerner

Of course, I know we didn't ALL have plaid woolen grampas with steel shovels (see previous post) ; some had plaid seersucker grampas with titanium golf clubs. And many had none.

I never really stopped to think how lucky I was to have known, however briefly, all four of my grandparents. I realize, now, how few of us have that opportunity. Families spread across oceans and continents; a generation here, a generation there. Some, wiped out by a war here, a famine there.

We have been, and to a large extent, still are, a nation of immigrants. As such, we always have a huge number of families among us whose elders aren't around. It leads me to wonder if this plays a part in the amount of unrest and, perhaps, elevated crime rates we see in some neighborhoods comprised mostly of recent immigrants. Don't misunderstand me, I'm not discounting the influence of low income, lousy housing, language barriers, or the prejudices of the not-so-recently landed. And I certainly don't think that current waves of recent arrivals are any more crime-prone than their predecessors.

I simply believe that knowing my grandparents had a steadying effect on my life, even though I didn't get to spend much time with them. I know that my sons benefitted from their grandparents' influence.

As the only surviving grandfather of my clan of little people (to borrow a phrase from a friend), I guess I'd better watch how I influence them. I do have a plaid woolen mackinaw, but I attack the snow with a PLASTIC #12 grain shovel.

- Ralph Murre

Snow!

Finally, finally, real snow like
when we were all kids and
had plaid, woolen grampas
with steel shovels, and they
talked about back when it
really snowed, and sometimes,
they smoked cigars and
carried small flasks in
their plaid, woolen pockets.


Back, now, from the morning walk with the dog, to visit Mother Lake. Air, choked with fine snow and a hatful of breeze, Nor'east, vis. on lake at about 100-150 yards, and what you can see -- not encouraging to an old sailor. Back in the warm, coffee mug in hand, my thoughts turn to those sailing the seas and those pointing their bows down the concrete trade routes -- have a care -- take a deep reef. Be safe.

- Ralph Murre

Ides of February

from a photo by Nancy Vaughn

Long have they skirmished;
this head, this heart.
He, with his education,
with his reasoning,
with his penthouse suite
with windows on everything
(but those offices below.)
He with his finger on the pulse.
And beneath,
he not of the expected constancy,
but of the hot blood;
he who races that pulse
without orders from above,
he who works double-time
in mid-February
while the CEO naps;
he who loves mergers.

- Ralph Murre

candlelight

The dark fabric of the night,
pulled up from the east and
tacked to the sky with stars,
has fallen to earth;
only this little candle
to burn a hole
where daylight may seep in.

- Ralph Murre

From time to time, of course, I go a-surfing on the net -- blithely hanging ten in the pipeline of blog after blog -- and I must say that there is a great deal of crud in the water. Darkness falling, in spite of this marvelous tool we've been given, this lamp to light the way. Every now and then, however, I see a little candle burning a hole in the dark. My links field -- yeah, over there on your right -- is filled with sources of light. One which is just being lit, and which I expect to burn very brightly, is Mimi's Golightly Cafe ( http://sharonauberle.blogspot.com ) by Sharon Auberle; poet, spirit of the page, of the woodland, and of the shore.

everywhere

even in death

on this frigid plain

some beauty

- arem

disorder

The words do not orderly and willingly queue up to walk single-file across a page, like some elder, hopeless, labor camp inmates, going to their rest; but are, instead, third graders at recess, pushing and shoving to get God knows where, in their primary colors and Oh! They haven't buttoned their jackets! and Oh! Come back here you wild, untamed phrases!

In the Shadows

Sleep well, you ground hogs, for tomorrow, your day will come. The fate of the world is in your furry, little paws; if you believe everything you hear. Better to trust you, I suppose, than politicians or other shady characters who come out into the light even more rarely than yourselves.