Susan Bassler Pickford
Member-at-large (Maine)

Middle English “trewthe,” from Old English “trēowth” — fidelity;

akin to Old English “trēowe” — faithful — before 1100s

“You can’t handle the truth,” screams Jack Nicholson in a Few Good Men

“Few people can,” I retort in a whisper

The truth is massaged, covered up, dressed down

Like a tired old body

We see it through steely eyes, red eyes and macular distortion

We bend the truth

We torture the truth

And it is

Often camouflaged

Very rarely is the truth

Open, straightforward as a book, or transparent as glass

Because Jack is right

We just can’t handle the bare, unvarnished truth

The faithfulness of facts with reality

The truth that stings, abrades, hurts

The truth that rips the scab off the skin

Exposing the raw tissue of reality

By Barb Whitmarsh

Bayou City ll Branch, Texas 

The grass is damp with crystalline dew

Orderly white gravestones

They’re wet too

The flags are lowered

Until dawn

What leaps past it all?

A tiny fawn

Innocence growing bolder

Not a chance

For our lost soldiers

With lives ahead

No matter what for

But they were taken

In chaotic war

Cry, yes cry, spill your tears

Life moves forward

For many years

And if you cannot

Bow in prayer

Show in some other way

You care

Whisper endearing words

That many dear brothers

Never heard

Pat some markers

No matter the ranks

For all we can truly give —

Is thanks

Barbara Sillery
Cape Cod Branch

The sky is falling.
There’s a hole in the ground.
Hug me. Hug me, now.

The road is too narrow.
The hill is too steep.
Hug me, hug me quick.

I didn’t do it right.
I didn’t do it at all.
Hug me. Hold me. Please.

It just happened that’s all.
It does you know—
flat tires, gray hairs, wrong turns,
hurricanes, fires, floods, pestilence,
and then there’s that big one—Woe.
A half a hug would do.

It sounds better in French:
Je ne sâis pas pourquoi—
I do not know why, 
but the logic remains as pitiful.
So perhaps, s’il vous plaît,
un petite hug por moi? 

So here I stand
awaiting the verdict,
wishing I could
create a reason,
even an unreason
would be nice.
But what if there isn’t?

Hug me anyway?

by Susan Bassler
Pickford Member-at-large

Comedy:

Middle English, from Medieval Latin comoedia, from Latin, drama with a happy ending,

 from Greek kōmōidia, from kōmos revel + aeidein to sing    1300s

 

Fifty years ago Carol Burnett

Starred in her comedic variety show

Timeless as vaudeville

Slip on a banana peel

Everyone laughs

But not today

Democrats would point to recycling

Or the cutbacks in garbage men’s pay

Republicans would point to failed farm programs

Or the lapse of the work ethic

Independents would point to ineffective littering rules

The ha-ha’s  would halt in mid-air

The oxygen needed for a hearty guffaw

Sucked out of the prat fall

Political correctness has made fools of us

Comedy If not impossible, becomes anemic

Society has slipped on a banana peel

And we don’t get the joke

 

by Barb Whitmarsh
Bayou City 2, TX Branch

Had it sung but one brief song

Known one moment of Spring

Taken one brief flight

Piped in one dawn

Or one night

Had it made one boastful call

To an unknown mate

Its brief life

Would have been

An enviable fate

by Jill Maura Rabin, M.D.
Long Island, New York Branch

From Generation to Generation: ‘L’Dor v’ Dor’
(‘Give me the keys, please’)

From generation to generation,
L’Dor v’Dor – a song, a wish, a prayer
pouring from my lips each Sabbath,
Responsibility light years from today.

L’Dor v’Dor – a weight, my eyes strain
and discern elders’ traces, admonitions,
‘Do not forget’, soundless warnings,
Knowledge shared in haste over time.

L’Dor v’Dor – twilight fills a father’s senses, dawn just yesterday,

Struggle and accomplishment, a life defined by service,

Care, control and days slip through gnarled fingers,

‘Give me the keys, please.’

L’Dor v’Dor – How to find you in the darkness?’

I am dizzy from earth’s ever faster spin,

Time, invisible, yet palpable, moves me up life’s ladder,

The next ones’ breath is on my neck asking for more.

L’Dor v’Dor – precious, ancient words, fiery letters blaze,

Past and future coalesce, generations of truth shared

in an instant, all is given, lost and gained, my son

is next – ‘give me the keys, please.’

L’Dor v’Dor – a song, a wish, a prayer

poured from my lips, each Sabbath,

Responsibility fulfilled, we rise together,

from generation to generation, L’Dor v’Dor.