Sweet Teeth En Masse

It was early in the morning and I realized that there was

no milk for breakfast.

Going through the line at our CUB grocery store, 

I was startled to hear a cheer arise from some checkout clerks

the next aisle over. 

    Two thousand plus dollars . . . our first transaction of the day.

    (store manager comes running over) That person right over there, 

    the one going out the door, just bought 2,500 bars of Haagen-Dazs*

    ice cream! He said it was for a convention and said 

                        'if that's what they want . . .

                         that's what they will get.'

I could not help but stare. And yes, there they were. On a pallet . . . cases of

something all wrapped up being carted away.

Outside, I offered to hold one of the cartons until he could lift the rest into the 

back end of the small truck. He didn't take me up on my most generous offer.

          (No one seems to have ever taken me jump on ploys like that!)

So, I took my milk and went home.

Can't believe for the life of me, 

some people's palettes.

                       *Living briefly in New Jersey in 1961, I remember when Haagen-Dazs

                         first came out. The media said that the inventors of the ice cream

                         created the name so that it would sound exotic and Danish. The words,

                         evidently, were just made up.

W H A T G O E S A R O U N D . . .

The first poem was written on the day, four years after

a Discovery Shuttle astronaut lost grip on a tool while

doing an outside the shuttle procedure. The 15 lb. device

was allowed to go into orbit with little thought as to the

likeliness of ever having to "meet up" with it again. A 

direct hit would likely spell disaster. In 2004, it was

estimated that there were 10,003 pieces of space junk in

earth orbit - some small and some as big as a refrigerator.

Smaller pieces of "space chunks" fall ever 2-3 days, larger

chunks . . . every 10-12 days. On 4/29/03 a 2.5-ton Italian

satellite fell into the Pacific Ocean. It had been in orbit

for seven years!

The second poem was inspired by a Minnesota state-wide

air pollution alert in which everyone was encouraged to 

remain indoors unless absolutely necessary - especially

persons with asthma or lungs. Since I had both, I stayed

mostly inside.  I couldn't help but wonder where "road dust"

must go. With the help of the cooperative staff of the local 

Tires Are Us and Firestone outlets, I calculated that there 

is about 16.8 million tons of tire dust produced each year

in Canada and the U.S. If the dust is compressed into a 

somewhat-solid mass, that translates into a column that

measures 6 x 6 feet at the base and rising 140 miles into

space. Or . . . it would form a block the size of a football

field soaring to 9,835 feet. ( 1-1/2 times higher than

Mt. Washington.)

                              +   +   +   +   +   +

                   Heavy, vise-like tool, 

                   slips from astronaut's grip.

                   Released to orbit -

                   assumed never-to-be-seen-again.

                   Then, after three days -

                   a fifteen-pound emergency

                   looms. 

                   Shuttle rockets fire.

                   Dodges

                   disaster.

                   Almost not seen.

                       Often,

                              what goes around, 

                                         comes around.

                                +   +   +   +   +   +

                   Tire circles

                   wear thin -

                   spinning off rubber.

                   Particulate matter,

                   released to join soil, water,

                   air and -

                   lungs.

                   Disasters mostly unseen -

                   insidious.

                   Inner pollution.

                       Often,

                              what goes around,

                                         comes around.

 

A New Article Published on MinnPost

Elizabeth has an article just published on MinnPost. Its title is From here to Syria, the question haunts: Am I my brother's keeper?

Go to www.minnpost.com. and click on Community Voices to bring up the article. Check it out!

MinnPost is a on-line nonprofit nonpartisan news organization, providing "high quality journalism for news-intense people." Although their mission is aimed at issues of interest for Minnesotans, in this Internet age their site is visited by people all around the world.

A Toad Encounter of the Third Kind

Yesterday, I almost mowed over a toad.

It was early morning . . .
still the cool of the day.
By the time I got the mower started
the humid heat onslaught had begun.

So now, the task was at hand -
normally a twenty-one minute job
but today I aimed
for eighteen.

It was so hot that I skipped
stopping at the duckweed-covered
garden pond, replete with its little stream
gurgling over rocks along the edge.
A springtime home to many creatures,
one of which is always
a pair of toads.

Normally, not much attention is given them except
to enjoy their soothing evening calls or
to pause and try to spot them among the perennials
before they
plop into the safety of their pond.

Mowing around a corner of an organic bed
of garden vegetables, something moved!

Tiny it was and
hugely struggling through the long grass.

The mowing stopped and I cut
the engine with its whirling blades . . .

Then, two more diminutive strugglers emerged.

Kneeling, to peer into the grass
where the motion had been, I saw
their bejeweled eyes and lumpy skin.
The baby toads were so still and trusting -
I imagined they knew I would
cause them no harm.

I remembered a child, long ago
holding a toad up close and thinking -
those eyes are the most beautiful things in the world.

Still they are . . . except for
the dark brown eyes
of my sweetheart.

           Elizabeth, 
               I love you so much!
                      Clem
                                                    (Written the day before our Wedding Anniversary)

A Day of Remembering

On this day fifty years ago, Clem joined the marchers in Washington DC for the March on Washington. It was an event that changed both of our lives.

I asked him to be my guest essayist on my blog essays from the heart. Put this phrase in Google (or any other search engine that you use) and/or go to essaysbyecnagel.blogspot.com and see what he has to say!

NOTICED FROM MILES ABOVE THE EARTH'S CRUST

                               Call them          what you will
             Absorka, Bitter Root,         Big Belt, Cascades.
                                      From          an airplane window
             ranges of the Rockies         blend into
                                         one.

                                 From the         lingering blue sky below
                       a wisp of cloud         scuttles past -
                            soon to melt         away.
                                     Others         follow.

                  Serpentine streams         crawl from beneath
             melting drifts of snow         to congregate within
                          distant waters.        Slowed and captured by
                     walls of concrete,        reservoirs lay in wait
            to encourage farmland         to grow anew.
 
                                                        Recent snow on
       clear-cut mountain terrain         outlines curiously
                   unnatural patterns.        Perhaps,
                               from these         newly harvested slopes,
                  springtime streams         commence
                    their unhampered         rush
                                     to join         alpine lakes.

                  All, an emergence         of old and new.

                                    Waters         often appear pristine when
                               seen from         far above
                                                        earth's crust.

                       
                                                    -Written during an airplane flight
                                                      from Vancouver, BC to Minneapolis / St. Paul

What Is In Some People's Heads Anyway?

some folks must believe they are immortal
which means to live forever and a day
yet their behavior seems so contradictory

they speed down highways like the devil
was after them, tailgating the car in front and
weaving through traffic as if there is no tomorrow

if one is truly immortal, wouldn't that mean
they have all the time in the world - and more
to cruise along, breathe sweet air, enjoy the scenery

I guess they don't expect they will ever crash
endure crushed limbs and broken bones
or pass from this world into the next

if they weren't going so fast, I'd holler out
                          some of us are mortal and could die
the result of such "video-game" behavior

you know - games where the goal is to
beat the game, plowing through super-fast
to see how many other cars will flame out or

those TV shows full of high speed chases with
roadway violence to keep their audiences and ratings or
promises of impossible feats if you buy the latest models

as for me - I am far more comfortable when
cars stay in their own lanes, no texting please
and thank you, stay off my back bumper

I sometimes play the car-game, noting how often
their behavior gets them there no faster than me
and wonder how they can live so roiled up inside

meanwhile careful to yield to them, their claims
of entitlement their immortality seems to endow
this belief that all roads solely belong to them

I try not thinking bad thoughts such as
go ahead, crash and die some gruesome death
in order to discover they are mortal like me

So I think instead about lovely things, violets
blooming in the spring, the first soft snow
the love I receive and give away

and pray tiny prayers for safety
please God not today, I love life so much
and desire a few more sunshine-filled good days