Bathroom code

Jenny, Jenny, I've got your number 
It opens up this bathroom door
Lost my house, my job, my prospects
Now I can't take a pee no more.
Became a crime just by living 
"I'm sorry, bud, don't be sore. 
I don't make rules, just enforce them
Only patrons get our code that's for
Our riff-raff blocking bathroom door."

38/100

Yesterday we arrived a meeting with our financial planner, located in my old hometown. I needed to go to the bathroom. I was given a code, “five, four, three, star” to open the men’s room located in the lobby. We were on the 13th floor and this firm owned the whole floor. We passed two security guards to get in the elevator. I’m wondering, “why would you secure a bathroom in that circumstance?” Driving around we noticed many homeless people camping in public spaces. Today I noted the same to our hosts as we toured all the changes. Their response? “Yeah, the police can’t keep up with keeping them out of the parks. ” We wound up at a large brewpub in a building with two other tenants. There was a code to get into the restrooms, located in the hallway. Gotta keep the riff raff out, I guess.

I’m not doing much about it by supporting these businesses, but there isn’t much I can do for this community. When I get back home though …

Reality Bites

Smoke over Columbia River from I-90. August 2026.

REALITY BITES:

New candy? Snack?
Those little video shorts
which interrupt my sci-fi show? 
Philosophical stance? 
Exclamatory response to events? 
New television show? 
Those little pieces of my
memory which seem to be intact? 

Everything said
Resonates with poetry. 
Meanings double upon
meanings, symbolism
wearing various guises. 
Language delivering
beyond expectations. 
English's beauty.

37/100

Friends

Making friends should
be easy, but it's not. 
Casting them aside? 
Much easier: just
leave; stop calling; 
move away. Soon your
life will be pristinely
friendless. No one to
mess up your agenda of
uninterrupted nothingness.

36/100

YESTERDAY’S poem!

I wrote it while flying cross-country at which point food and drink became more important. The clock kept ticking. By the time dinner had finished, it was nearly time for bed, and I just plain forgot the poem. (But will he post one tonight?…)

Sing, Muse!

Come, Muse! Grace
these cells laden,
encumbered, bracken-
masked, alone
Swing Inspiration's
sword, cut these bonds
which cruelly imprison.
Sing! May these cells 
quiver for joys just
now birthed, for new
connections made,
for purpose kindled,
for feelings restored.

35/100

Bubbles

Severely compromised
immune systems
require bubbles for
environmental 
safety. What will
protect us from our
world's toxicity?
What bubbles have we built
which protect? Which ones
trap us in noxiousness?

34/100

Sparks

Missing my old choir buddy who died last December. He always, always, stayed deeply involved in life. In his 80’s, having just beat his battle with cancer, he trained for our local crisis hotline and began counseling the suicidal and the abuse victim. Anyway, thought of him today in mass, and this poem began.

Why his clarity, his ocular spark,
so near does death's shadow creep?
Others, with near-dead eyes, long
encumbered by that dark shadow,
seem to have surrendered. What?
Something. That spark, that signal,
that engagement. Oddly, we note
both say similar words: "I'm 
ready to die. Take me, any time,"
but our engaged example
has said it all his life.

33/100

simultaneity

The Lord will keep your foot from stumbling.
—Psalm 121:3a

Simultaneously he believed
in volition and predestination.
Quoting popular humor he noted,
"No single raindrop believes it's
responsible for the flood."
Ever drops of his life accumulated
Submerging possibilities until
his life-as-sailing-bark found
only one harbor, only one course.
"Certainly I could refuse that harbor,
this line," he thought while 
he beat course straight for it.

32/100

Poem #31

Whew! Made it! Tied up with my poet-compatriot.

Where do they come from
these words, thoughts, strung
together, willingly
or not?

Loquacious parents,
spouting words treasured
for oddity, scarcity, for
impact?

Reading voraciously,
"anything, anything!"
never passing chances
to look up unfamiliar
nuggets?

Listening to my
erudite professors,
my pompous friends,
my intellectual
media?

Or do they pop
from somewhere beyond
experiential ken,
lexical amino acids making
newness?

31/100

I sat in morning’s glory

A recent sit on the porch yielded too many “morning” poems for one day. Herewith…

I sat in morning's glory:
Sun on my left shoulder.
Squirrels, possessed, scampered below,
imitating smaller chipmunks.
Finches swooped from roof
to feeder, then returned.
One belligerent wren whistled 
insistently. Towhee sang softly,
Wren's backup singer.
Suddenly bird-laughter through
dense pines. Pileated woodpecker
taunted from his shadowy
safety, hidden. Sun limned
dawn's clouds, painted our laurel.
I wondered: could daytime meet
My morning's grand promises?

30/100

Riches unspendable

In an effort to write a 31st poem be the end of July 31st, I offer up this wacky little number. It suggests to me I’ll rewrite it one day, but I think it plays well enough to post. Let me know if you agree; let me down easy if you don’t!

Buckaroo Banzai in dimensions eight,
Cannonball Run, pray for roads that are straight.
Diamonds Are Forever, but memories fade.
Old age resembles a slip into shade.
Memories clamor over thoughts for today
They seem truly meaningful, but never play
With younger crowds climbing Memory's stair
Who'll discover old age when they're least aware.
Experience once built riches to hold,
But today their accrual equals fool's gold.
I live in this land of depth, of meaning,
Until I slip off into Life's last evening.

29/100