Kids grow parents die
Looks jobs bosses partners change
In this dance of time
It’s true normal’s just
A dryer setting meaning
Tumbling in hot wind
So we all need things
To hold onto — tumbleweeds
Are so hard to hug
Friends dogs coffee God
Things that don’t just blow away
When storms are brewing
Spaces inside, out
Spaces life can’t rearrange
Unless we say so
We all need our rocks
To build our peace on, knowing
The sands will get in
Windows broken out
Or as we say in the hood
Air conditioning
He heated up when
Asked size of his unit, but
She meant Btu
Air conditioning
One time in life it’s good to
Be a Carrier
Evaporation
Of body’s perspiration
Natural a.c.
But it sure is nice
To put this heat on ice through
Refrigeration
Amelia Earhart, July 24, 1897 — July ??, 1937
Nikumaroro
75 years later
The search continues
Mystery, adventure
Derring-do, lust to take wing
Amelia Earhart
Her birthday today
Incarnate in Atchison
Baby girl inspired
From first shed-roof “flight”
To last over Pacific
Spirit blazed, undimmed
And then she vanished
Landing on the wrong island?
Ditching in the sea?
The search continues
Hope they find what they’re seeking
If even they know
Perhaps it’s all right
When a dream runs out of gas
To keep chasing it
But I think she would
Move on, lay the dream to rest
Beneath waves and sand
Sailing to the stars
This one last time, for all time
Liftoff, Sally Ride
The NPR report on the death of Sally Ride is here.
A YouTube clip of rare Monet footage reminded me of these verses, from the last day of the Monet show last summer at the Nelson Gallery in Kansas City.
Stock markets crashing
A brave helicopter, too
Death and destruction
Monet’s exhibit
Beckons, one last day of peace
Amid the chaos
Cleveland, St. Louis,
KC rejoin their triptych
Of water lilies
Yes, Monet beckons
Grainy black and white film clip
Of a smoking bear
Museum writings
Talk of history and technique.
Soul, they can’t explain
Pure tranquility
Spotlights on the canvases
In dimly lit room
Pure tranquility
Flows across the canvases
42 feet wide
Pure tranquility
Reunites the canvases
Three friends breathe as one
I sit, stand, kneel, rest
Immersing myself in them
From every angle
Can’t see from afar
Without people in the way
They’re part of the show
Round-faced baby girl
Stooped man in tourist-plaid shorts
Three handsome siblings
The Nelson’s garden
Blooms with these human flowers
Shapes, colors, ages
Monet’s panels each
Have a shimmering center
Of yellow and green
Each draws you, calls you
To get lost in reflection
As Monet once did
Clusters of lilies
Give each panel its own life
Different from the rest
Wisps of peach and rose
Deep red here, darker green there
Cream saucers and swirls
Beloved garden
Monet’s refuge from a war
That ravaged his time
Beloved garden
That became his obsession
To paint and rework
Beloved garden
A peace we magically share
Across time and space
Wishing Martha Reeves
Happy birthday, but Martha,
About this Heat Wave …
Harriet Hilliard
Born today, too. Don’t know her?
Hint: married Ozzie
Uke slinger, singer
Erin McGrane celebrates
On the road today
And let’s wish Dion
A doo-wop birthday, still a
Teenager in love
July 14, 1912 – October 3, 1967
Woody’s century
Thousands of songs, one message
This land is your land
Married July 12, 1941: John Hack and Loretta Maxine Madl
Died July 6, 1999: John Hack
Died Jan. 21, 2010: Maxine Hack
19, getting hitched
What were those two thinking of?
Whatever; it took
Eyes and hair gleaming
They could’ve been movie stars
Two beautiful kids
They got through some stuff
World War II, three boys, cancer
In 58 years
“Till death us do part”
Yet somehow not even death
Could keep them apart
Dad left this earth first
And his passing softened Mom
Made her reflective
Raised in Depression
She wasn’t sentimental
Not on the surface
But she thought a lot
All those years that were such hell
Without her Johnny
And as she held Dad,
Held him in memory, she knew
Some love never dies
I always thought time
Won out in the end; somehow
I think they beat it
Heaven, or memory,
They’re together — always were
Whatever it took
The perfect accompaniment for this, “Their Hearts Were Full of Spring,” is here.
Nanci Caroline Griffith, July 6, 1953, Seguin, Texas
Updated 2020
Cracked my heart open
The first time I heard her sing
Still does, every time
You see, we all have
This problem, and it’s called love
Nanci Griffith knows
And for some of us,
Heart on sleeve fools, no one else
Sings it quite like her
From Kerrville campfires
To the London Symphony
Nanci’s played ’em all
And tracing romance
Or tugging hatred’s hood, she
Sings about what’s real
Nanci pays tribute
To her strong-women heroes
Love isn’t weakness
Has her causes, too
From the death penalty to
Equal marriage rights
Been through life’s wringer
Death of young sweetheart, divorce,
Cancer twice, friends lost
Years of writer’s block
Came too, till two-thousand-nine
Saw her muse return
“The Loving Kind” said
Nanci’s back, but next CD
Proved to be her last
Once in a lifetime
Or at least in a blue moon
One so touching shines
Happy birthday, girl
You take the cake, and our hearts
It’s all frosting now
Lots of beach reading
Love, war, dragons — and after
The tattoos, some books
The hourglass figures
Seldom have the time of day
For gray-haired tourists
Gymnasts coil, uncoil
Hand- foot- hand- foot- hand- foot-prints
Handsprings eternal
Dapper old surf dude
Wetsuit and walrus moustache
Looks good catching waves
Yellow boogie boards
Carry freezing frolickers,
Smart kids in wetsuits
Waves’ frigid beauty
Irresistible — result:
Frozen bananas
Batman water wings
Happy-tiger-face beach chair
The tot patrol’s here
Endless energy
Bodies less than 3 feet tall
Scoot like windup toys
Plastic-diaper twins
Vertical leap 2 inches
Hop over “big” waves
Toddlers with shovels
Big diesel earthmovers pale
In comparison
Low tide, castle waits
So exquisitely detailed
Exquisitely doomed
Blue, blue green, gray green
Silver flash of sun, foam, crash
Waves rinse and repeat
The tensions of life,
No match for the endless waves,
Go out with the tide
Greg's Hack-u 