We thought a trip in Alice’s wonderland
was fun and safe, and not real but good
entertainment for an afternoon, a week,
a month. But not four years. The newness

wears off. We put on new glasses and
begin to see the real wonderland. Not
so nice ruled by a bully Queen shouting
revenge orders off with their heads

directed by Cheshire cat who secretly
knows he that he alone oversees this
once wonderful place. He mischievous
smile hides his intent just before he

just before he fades out, disappearing
into the ALTernative-Reality he inhabits.
The queen here and now, defended two;
one standing at a podium

yelling his madness, red faced and sweating
and another wearing a red, white, blue and
military buttons clown suit, spewing ALT-
ernative facts.

This trip down the rabbit hole has turned
from fun to bummer. I want a refund, my
money back, restore my wasted time. Turn
the clock back to before this trip started.

We learned in Chicago, and after the murders of
Civil rights workers in Mississippi, the slaughter
Of Medgar Evers and Martin Luther King that the
government didn’t care but we

kept voting, even after gerrymandering and hiding polling places,
politicking door-to-door, on street corners with signs held high.
the Parties gave us their choices we didn’t nominate: their choices
were party people and

about power, to advance Agendas in a continual tug of war
between the Elephants and Donkeys. Somebody sold us on the idea
that demonstrations were wrong we needed to work together.
So we learned political correctness, PC. We didn’t want to hurt

anybody’s feelings by telling them they were racists, Nazis
Jim Crows, KKKs, Texas Rangers. Just A trick by some Government
hack to cut our balls off so the hate groups grew larger and
the politician’s bolder and the we The people weaker. Now voiceless

and ball-less we complained in soft voices afraid to make waves
against the politicians who kept massage us saying they represented
us. we were too weak to speak up until now when democracy Is on
the cutting board, the constitution shoved in a drawer

and a lawless criminal president who does what he wants, congress has
his back no law is too big to break, while dark clouds gather on the
horizon, soon the sun will be blanketed and the days will be dark,
while our friends are deported, Mosques burned, Jewish

cemeteries defiled because we gave up our voice and they
took our balls. now is the time to get them back, raise
our voice, our signs, our demonstrations in protest once again
to regain government of the people, by the people, for the people.

Before it is too late.

The proclivity of the president-elect to strike back at people who make statements critical of his behaviors, comments or policies, is alarming. Reasonable people must use all avenues in social media to call out his unacceptable, non-presidential behaviors, ideas, and announcements. We must be willing to defend compassion, sensibility, critical reasoning, human rights, the constitution, ethical behaviors, fair treatment for everyone, and the denouncement of the alt-rights, evangelicals, and others who would have this country be a white-male-Christians only country.

Instead of returning to greatness we must strive to return to critical thinking and reasoning. We must value education at all levels, scholarship, the arts, science, available and affordable health care and freedom to make our own choices rather than the choices, made for us, by the personal agendas of elected officials currently in positions of power.

It is 30 minutes past the dawn of the new dark ages. If we wait it too long it will be midnight. Then we live in darkness for the next for years.

Jesus hovered above the cross 
watching white-robed men set 
fire to the rope-tied boards
after placing it in front of 
a negro’s house before dragging 

the black man out, rope tight 
around his neck, for lynching, 
while the crosses on their robes 
glowed red in the fire’s reflection 
What did Jesus know from his 

perch? What did he think? Did 
he hear the white-robes claim 
Christianity for whites? For 
Men? Was he forsaken? Did he 
wonder if he died in vain? 

the hanged man floated a few
feet above the ground twisting 
rhythmically in the wind as the 
men watched him die cheering 
grinning smugly

When the cross turned to charcoal 
men took off their robes got in 
their cars went home for dinner
then early to bed so they could 
go to church in the morning.

Once a week I read the 
obits in the Portland
Oregonian. I feel
kinship and connection

to the city and people.
I started reading obits
when I was younger. those 
dying born in the teens 
twenties later thirties 

and forties, I caught up.
Now people from 
fifties and sixties. I 
recognize names or think 
I do wondering if I dated
 
her or drank with him.
Did we go to the same high school? 
or university? Were they Jewish? 
was the family name one I 
remember? Recently there have
 
been a few dead children.
I knew their parents. Some names 
standout there is no doubt
I know where and when. 
Others more elusive or magical 

a sounds-like-moment, a trick of mind.
This timeline serves me
like a clock measuring time
by passing generations changing, 
people leaving, me waiting

proving my frailty my humanity.


the parable of first impressions
a lesson to shape  behaviors 
to act nice at first 

big toothy smile firm handshake, 
vague meaningless dialogue to
convince the other that you are 

not a threat at all that you can 
be trustworthy all the while looking 
the potential adversary in the eye
 
taking their measure for the 
inevitable future combat 
denigration unfriending cruelty

first impressions carry more
of what we want than what we 
see disintegrating over time

replaced by last or painful
impressions more easily recalled
lasting long after death

there is no redemption for suffering.
yours is the only broken heart. they 
don’t feel your pain, can’t acknowledge 
any feelings for you, or care to understand, 
it is your problem and yours alone. there is 
no justice or fairness in this life you will 
die waiting for karmic revenge while wasting 
your brain on useless little stories. go into 
a bar and ask how many have had breakups 
thrust at them, how many have suffered. 
there is no poor-me in a crowd.