Bench Haiku

 

Haiku At Sunset

 

Bourbon & Rhyme

c.2021 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(2-21)

Bottle seal broken

Like a canyon, my brain lies open 

Split by a wild wash of winter whiskey

Flowing

All-knowing

From the bluegrass flask

Questions I’ve never dared to ask

Peering into the dark expanse

A trembling soul

A nowhere man

An empty glass on the nightstand

A tickle in my throat

A prayer of hope

From Heaven Hill to those below

I remember old men sitting by the courthouse

Bath County, in 1969

Whittling sticks, talking politics

Nattering nabobs, and Agnew obnoxious

Richard Nixon, and fumes most noxious

From the fires burning in protest

Sad things uttered in jest

That today would cause a stir

But being what they were

Backward, bent under the strain

Of Elvis crooning ‘Kentucky Rain’

Clans and cliques

Church suppers

Where we passed the dish

How often I wished

To be somewhere else

Able to find myself

Beyond the sunburned necks

And calloused hands

A wandering heart

With a cartographer’s plan

The worn wrecks

Of pickup trucks

Driven by wise old men

In working-class duds

Crushed and criticized

Yet hardened inside

Along for the ride

Rusted, rattling, rolling

Fortified with godly talk

It never occurred to me

That we might face the sun’s primal gleam

With a similar dream

Each on our team 

Reaching fast

For the looking glass

To see what others think

Yes, I recall it now

While raising my glass of drink

Tonight, hard memories run rife

Like lightning from the afterlife

Causing my hands to shake

While another shot, I partake

Too drunk to wish this moment away

Though today

I can recall that horseplay

Free of pain

Far our house from Wells Avenue

There were struggles and strife

Like I never knew

Sin and sorrow

Fools fighting without hope for tomorrow

Blind to the holy word

By false teachers, deterred

Every Sunday, I heard

Instruction from the good book

The guiding light

The might of right

Rock of ages, and newspaper pages

Only if I turned on the transistor

Did I hear of war and draft resistors

Brothers yearning to be sisters

Depression and drugs

‘The Stooges’ or ‘The Fugs’

Not yet on my table, turning

Cities burning

Streets red with blood

Ruled by atheist thugs

It was frightening enough

When in those moments after dark

I tuned in

And began to listen

My childhood aim

Was to feed the cat

To bravely swing a baseball bat

Or take out the trash

To our burn barrel in the back yard

Mom and Dad on guard

Against the humanist canard

Those who did not believe

Were strangers to me

I knelt humbly on the wood floor

Said my prayers before

I began to snore 

Now, when the day is done

And I sit here with my bourbon

That world I ponder, gone over yonder

A poet and scribe

Still mystified 

With the randomness of life

By chance, sent asunder

Pitfalls and blunders

When they finally put me under 

That emerald green

I hope in the casket

Wrapped in my funeral blanket

Will be a bottle for eternity

Written on my iPhone SE

“Insurrection Rejection”

c.2020 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(1-21)

Prancing with the proles

Fire extinguishers and flag poles

Weapons fly

Tear gas in the sky

Ceremonial horns

The people warned

“March and fight! 

Trial by combat, here tonight!”

Howlers in the halls

With zip-ties and bowling balls

QAnon Quakers

Proud Boys and Oath Takers

Confederate, lest we forget

A nation in peril

Heavy hearts grow full

With love of the Orange Man

His crazy coif and spray-on tan

“Mask up, you say?

The China Virus will go away!”

Like a snack for Scooby Doo

“Don’t worry, it’s just the flu!”

Let the powerful hear alternative truth

There’s blood and shit

On the heel of my shoe

Marching from room to room

While TV cameras document the doom

Legislators - see you later!

Shaken, not stirred

Electoral College, disturbed

A process, deterred

For a moment, deferred

Till the reckoning

Tomorrow morning

When the smoke has cleared

And the John Birch Society

Bows out, rather impolitely

Banners in the breeze

In body armor and combat boots

Up to their knees

Only one way to go

After this quid-pro-quo

Impeachment 2.0

Put those Klan robes far out of reach

For those standing in the breach

Helping their hero

Still grappling with defeat

Dissing doctors, ingesting bleach

Got some bold lessons to teach

Wield the spanner

Crib notes in the daily planner

Spin the spiel

Like a Roulette Wheel

The Wages of Sin

Growing pale and thin

Like a kick in the shin

From these awful misdeeds

To soaring poetry

In only a couple of weeks

Amanda Gorman speaks

At the Capitol dome

Liberty a-flourishing

Like sturdy strands of brome

Welcome home

This nation, resilient

Ever endures each moment

From World War

To conflict on the Senate floor

Rabble-rousers at the door

The faint-hearted have now departed

But the flame that a revolution started

So long ago

Flickers yet in the hearts

Of those seeking to light the dark

With wise words and the will to embark

Upon a journey, grand

To take up the task

“What can I do?”

We ask

To strike up the band

“This land is your land”

Woody Guthrie is not dead

He speaks still to those who dream

With his minimalist machine

Braced wood and six steel strings

Earthy tones

Old songs strummed by older bones

Carry me home

From the Pacific coast

To the tip of Maine

This nation remains

No need to explain

A patriot prayer offers protection

It slays all manner of insurrection

Today, tomorrow, and the rest

Lady Liberty has passed her test

A breath of pride swells my chest

No mere cult of personality

Can bend her low

Beneath defeat

Her torch held high

Against the sky

America, America

Flawed and fickle

Sometimes lost in the riddle

Yet ever back to the middle

By grace, rescued

By God, saved from rubes

Who last only for a season

Who disappoint daughters and sons

With self-important lore

Of what went before

What shines from shore to shore

Is a grand union

A grand mission, to chase the sun

In its arc over the continent 

Our nation, to represent

Whole, not divided

By this cause, united

Red, white, and blue

One purpose, one truth

In the mirror, my neighbor

I see you

Written on my iPhone SE

Morning Haiku

 

“The Devil & The Donald”

 

c. 2021 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(1-21)

It was an uneasy day in the underworld.

Tar Sulpherio, Grand Minion to the Lord of Hell, Lucifer Beelzebub Satan, felt a knot in the pit of his stomach. Smoke wafted from the burning lake where new souls were tortured after their arrival. He shivered a bit, while chewing his long fingernail. Today was a moment he had dreaded for weeks in advance. He knew that Satan would be cranky, with good reason. Everyone demon was on edge. Somehow, he wished to escape. But fate had placed him at the right hand of evil. There was no shirking his duty.

“SULPHERIO!” Lucifer shouted from his throne. “ATTEND ME!”

The minion bowed low with subservience. “Yes, Lord!”

“Today is the day!” the dark master growled.

“Indeed it is, Lord!” the servant replied.

Lucifer rubbed his glowing, red eyes. “How I hate these days of duty! God sends out a decree, and what do we offer him? Submission! We dance around, skip to every word, skip, skip, skip along, let him call the tune like a demented fiddler...”

Thunder shook the cavern with a mighty quake that loosened stones from the craggy ceiling.

“He hates it when you speak like that, sire!” Sulpherio whimpered, covering his head.

The Lord of Hell slumped in his pumice throne. “Goddd! Dear God! He is always so testy. Forgive me, father! Forgive me, you damned old man!”

The minion shielded his eyes. “Shall we prepare a place of honor for Mr. Trump?”

Lucifer exploded. “HONOR? YOU WISH ME TO HONOR THIS IMBECILE MORTAL WHO SEEKS ONLY PRAISE FOR HIMSELF?”

Sulpherio closed his eyes. “No indeed, sire. I only meant that...”

“I KNOW WHAT YOU MEANT, FOOLISH SLAVE!” Lucifer bellowed. A moment of silent reflection passed. Then, he spoke more gently. “This egotistical man-child is used to being coddled and humored and enabled wherever he goes. I must say that his… um… his line of bullshit has always made me recoil with awe. But now, now he is joining us in the depths of Hades.”

“Are you afraid of competition, sire?” the minion chortled.

“AFRAID???” the Dark Lord screamed. “AFRAID???? WHAT DO YOU MEAN, AFRAID????”

Sulpherio was trembling. “Please, I beg your pardon, master… please!”

Lucifer shook his head. “I knew that one day, God would banish him here. It was written in the stars. Earth has washed its hands of Donald Trump. Now he is our responsibility. If I could have avoided this day, if there could have been a bargain I could strike, it would have been done. But here we are, pieces on the chessboard. Performing our duties, as father intended.”

The minion bowed again. “Yes, sire!”

The bubbling lake glowed white-hot. Flames scorched the rock ceiling. A chant of demons filled the cavern. Suddenly, there was a rapping on the stone door, from the other side of their chamber.

“BEHOLD!” Lucifer said dramatically. “WE HAVE A NEW ARRIVAL!”

A fanfare of dead trumpeters began to play ‘Hail to the Chief.’

As the cavern door slid open, with bits of crumbling rock trailing across the floor, their guest appeared. Still dressed in a blue business suit, with a blonde quaff combed sideways, and a red tie dangling to his waist.

“Is this the airport?” Trump asked with a hint of confusion. “I’ve got to get to Mar-a-Lago!”

Sulpherio laughed out loud. “Airport? No, friend, you won’t be flying anywhere from now on. Your place is here with us… dipping a toe in the lake of fire!”

The former president was speechless. He stood very still, staring around the chamber.

Lucifer beckoned from his throne. “Won’t you join me, Donald?”

Trump peered forward in disbelief. “What happened to Melania? Or Rudy? Or Steve Bannon? Or Roger Stone?”

There was a wicked cackle of demons from every corner of the realm.

“The end has come,” Sulpherio observed, calmly.

“Indeed!” Lucifer agreed. “Today was appointed over a thousand years ago. Before you were even born. Today, you join us here in damnation. To spend the rest of eternity begging for deliverance from the wages of your sins!”

Trump cocked his head to one side. “Sins? I have no sin, believe me. I was prayed over by preachers and priests. By rabbis even. Maybe a mullah or two, I’m not sure, not sure about that, really. But prayed over a lot. Probably even by little children at bedtime. Prayed over more than any president.”

The minion burst into mad giggling. “Prayers! You think that they could cleanse your shame? The stain of causing an insurrection against your own government?”

The former president brushed bits of pumice off his collar. “The Jesus crowd loved me. Loved me a lot! I was the one not afraid to stand up for America, stand up holding a Bible, you know, a very special Bible, gold on the edge of every page, leather binding, the best Bible anyone has ever seen.”

Lucifer narrowed his eyes. “Did you ever read that book?”

Trump sputtered like a misbehaving kid. “I have, many times. Many times, believe me, read it a lot, I am a big Bible guy. They love me, the Bible people, the Jesus crowd, they love me.”

Sulpherio smacked his hands together with glee. “Idiot prince! Your lies mean nothing here! Do you think we are fooled by such rhetorical nonsense?”

The former president raised his hand as if appearing to testify in court. “Believe me!”

Lucifer leaned forward in his throne. An ominous whisper rasped from his throat. “Donald Trump, I have peered intently into your soul. Do you understand? Deep into the crevices of your mind. Into your heart. Everything that you are has been laid bare before me. There are no secrets. Your flesh, your blood, the breath in your lungs, it has all been surrendered to me...”

A cold chill went through the cavern.

Sulpherio gestured with his withered hand. “God has decreed that you spend the rest of eternity here with us, toiling away, swimming in the waves of boiling fire, mourning every sin, every selfish act, every betrayal, every lie!”

Trump was defiant. “I am the president! Not a garbage collector, not a ditch-digger. Not a small man. I am huuuge! Larger than life, believe me! Just like I won the election, by a landslide! I won bigly!”

Lucifer was amused. “LIFE? THERE IS NO LIFE LEFT IN YOU, DONALD! ONLY ENDLESS NIGHTS HERE IN HELL WITH THE CHOIR OF DAMNED SOULS! YOU WILL KNEEL HERE, BEFORE ME, FOREVER!”

The former president took a deep breath. “Look, if I am here, here in Hell, then my place should be negotiating for you. Making deals. I know ‘The Art of the Deal’ okay? Know it very, very well. Better than anyone.”

Sulpherio held his stomach, feeling sick.

“I rank here, I deserve a throne next to yours!” Trump continued. “You want power? I know all about power. I had power, lots of power in the White House...”

“ENOUGH!!!” Lucifer shouted. “ENOUGH OF THIS!!! I KNEW YOU WOULD EXPECT TO BE HONORED HERE! YOU ARE WORSE THAN RICHARD NIXON! MORE OF A BUFFOON THAN BENITO MUSSOLINI! AND TERRIBLY ANNOYING, LIKE MARIE ANTOINETTE!”

A trio of demons stepped forward. Each had a length of rusty chain in their right claw.

“BIND HIM!” The dark lord continued. “THEN THROW HIM IN THE BURNING LAKE! LET HIS PUNISHMENT BEGIN! LET ETERNITY CLAIM ITS PREY!”

* * * * * *

President Trump writhed in his narrow bed. A voice called from the airplane cockpit. “Sir, we are about to land in Florida. This is it, Mr. President. You have a limousine waiting for the trip to Mar-a-Lago. Joe Biden will be taking the oath of office, back in Washington.”

The airline cabin felt unusually warm. He had broken out into a sweat. Still, it felt good to be alive. At first, his fingers missed the intercom button. Then, he replied with a stammer of emotion.

“I have been treated so unfairly. But this is going to be different,” he admitted. “I am a winner, always a winner. Yesterday, today, and tomorrow. I will be bigger than Fox News, Rush Limbaugh or Newsmax. Bigger than Star Wars, Bigger than Harry Potter. Bigger than big. Believe me!”

Comments about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P. O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024

“Capitol Clash”

c. 2021 Rod Ice

All rights reserved

(1-21)

January 6^th, 2021.

Dates etched in history are easy to recall. Some thrilling, others evoking fear, heartache or regret. But this most recent of days arrived without warning. I had taken my pickup truck to a local shop for brake repair, and was waiting for a ride from my brother-in-law to bring it home. This happened after a familiar ritual. Pondering the cost of a fix on my rusty beast-of-burden, I looked at entries on various automotive websites. A new vehicle would break this cycle of mechanical fatigue, and restoration. I reckoned the purchase of something fresh would be a smarter investment. But with each new page on my phone, a mood of hopelessness began to take hold. I was broke and disabled. Not a likely candidate for buying an expensive mule to sit in the driveway.

As before, I surrendered to necessity.

While waiting, I turned on my television. Because the final tally of Electoral College votes for our next president was scheduled to occur, I figured there would be live coverage available. And indeed, images from Washington, D. C. filled the screen immediately. Formal, regimented procedures long accepted as part of our national heritage. But then came something more – protesters shouting a familiar name to the sky. That of Donald J. Trump.

Impatiently, I watched with concern, while checking the clock.

Puzzlement filled my head as I saw this crowd storm toward the hallowed Capitol building. I blinked and blinked again. Was this literally possible? They scaled the walls, began to fight their way inside. Trump banners and Confederate flags unfurled and flailing in the wind. I muttered a four-letter word in disbelief. The official counting had stopped. Our elected officials were literally running for their lives! Then, my ride appeared as tear gas clouded the video stream.

Leaving my isolated neighborhood, we passed a weathered, half-ton Dodge with Trump regalia streaming from makeshift poles in its bed. This seemed like an omen of sorts.

On our way to the repair shop in Chardon, I asked if my brother-in-law had been aware of this melee on the Potomac. He nodded without much concern. Though I could imagine the chorus of “Fake News!” that must have been playing in his imagination. The heater in his minivan was turned to its ‘max’ setting. This made the trip uncomfortable and sweaty. Still, I reckoned the beads on my forehead were from uneasiness, not the temperature. America, Land of Liberty, and the hope of those around the globe who were yearning for freedom, was on the brink.

After paying the bill, I turned the radio in my truck to real-time news reports about the situation in Washington. The homeward jaunt was like an excursion to an amusement park. Being carried on a path filled with sights and sounds of fearful fantasies. I listened to reports of mayhem and conflict. And, of POTUS supporters already pushing back on these stories. “Trump supporters claim that Antifa and Black Lives Matter must be involved,” the network feed explained.

At home again, I stood for a moment in the front yard. My Black Lab wandered while I looked up the street. Was there anyone else here who had not voted for ‘The Donald?’ I couldn’t think of a single neighbor who was likely to have shared my choice. This sobering reflection made me seek comfort in the only way that was easily available.

I decided to have a beer.

Though it was only about 30 degrees, I sat on the porch with a cold brew. Inspiration beckoned with each sip of my beverage. Finally, I logged on to Twitter and began to write:

“The thing that frightens me so much about seeing these people ransack our Capitol is that they are not foreign terrorists, invading soldiers, or anarchist malcontents. They are members of my own family. A neighbor on my street who constantly posts about Jesus on social media. A friend I like to see at the bonfire with a 12-pack of Bud Light. My favorite aunt. I know these people well. And I dread the demons they are summoning…”

My thoughts stretched backward in time, to a late relative who had lived by the Ohio River. She would send e-mail messages critical of Barack Obama. Some carried the standard rhetoric of a partisan thinker. Others toyed dangerously with racist themes. I deleted them regularly. But with the advent of Trump, her virtual tone became more enthusiastic. A sermon-in-text for Christ and political action. I did not have to wonder where her loyalties would lie, today.

I then remembered a former neighbor who had visited shortly after Election Day. A blue-collar fellow who became successful through hard work and personal discipline. I always enjoyed his good cheer and habit of bringing adult refreshments on every trip. But when I spoke about Joe Biden surging to win the presidency, he literally looked confused. “Trump won!” he shouted. “Trump won! Trump won!” I imagined that he still had a MAGA banner on display, like others down my street.

Finally, I thought of my own father, who passed away in 2018. A man of much education and experience. As I often called him, ‘my yardstick.’ I could never hope to measure up to his gentleness and steadfast faith. Yet he also cast his lot with the disrupter-in-chief. An act that befuddled me into silence. I had spent decades listening to him preach wise platitudes. Warning about the woes of sin and compromise with evil. His tip toward Trump seemed indefensible. But he explained that this modern figure was a resurrection of the Persian ruler, King Cyrus. A protector for the community of pious people who were loyal only to God.

Thankfully, the day ended with order being restored at our nation’s wheelhouse. Counting of the Electoral College ballots resumed. I sat up late, drinking in the living room, numbing away thoughts of percolating sedition and insurrection. For the moment, this temporary solution worked. My truck had been fixed and worries about the nation could wait until another day.

Yet as I drifted toward slumber in my chair, the images replayed like an endless loop of an avant-garde film. A voice, a hoarse and desperate voice, my very own voice, resounded with drunken abandon. I recited a plea learned in Sunday School as a kid. One that felt oddly appropriate for this inauspicious date in history.

“Forgive them, father, for they know not what they do.”

Comments about ‘Words on the Loose’ may be sent to: icewritesforyou@gmail.com

Write us at: P. O. Box 365 Chardon, OH 44024