May 25: Bob Hicok, "The semantics of flowers on Memorial Day," Taking a Knee

The semantics of flowers on Memorial Day

by:  Bob Hicok

Historians will tell you my uncle

wouldn't have called it World War II

or the Great War plus One or Tombstone

over My Head. All of this language

came later. He and his buddies

knew it as get my ass outta here

or fucking trench foot and of course

sex please now. Petunias are an apology

for ignorance, my confidence

that saying high-density bombing

or chunks of brain in cold coffee

even suggests the athleticism

of his flinch or how casually

he picked the pieces out.

Geraniums symbolize the secrets

life kept from him, the wonder

of variable-speed drill and how

the sky would have changed had he lived

to shout it’s a girl. My hands

enter dirt easily, a premonition.

I sit back on my uncle’s stomach

exactly like I never did, he was

a picture to me, was my father

looking across a field at wheat

laying down to wind. For a while,

Tyrants’ War and War of World Freedom

and Anti-Nazi War skirmished

for linguistic domination. If

my uncle called it anything

but too many holes in too many bodies

no flower can say. I plant marigolds

because they came cheap and who knows

what the earth’s in the mood to eat.

_________________________

A lot is being said about patriotism today, since the owners in the NFL decided to force their players to stand for the national anthem or else be fined.  This decision, and the reaction from the people in Washington, D. C., make me a little sick.

People just don't get it.  Taking a knee during the national anthem is not disrespecting the brave men and women who have fought and died for the United States.  What it is about is calling attention to the inherent racism that still exists in this country.  (If you don't believe there is racism in the United States, try Googling ALL the verses of "The Star Spangled Banner."  You may be a little surprised.)  This protest is about trying to make America a better place for EVERYONE who lives here.

Don't worry.  If I'm sitting next to you at an event this weekend, I will stand up and put my hand over my heart when the band plays the national anthem.  That is my choice, not my duty.

The soldiers who fought and died did so in defense of the values of the United States.  One of the greatest values of this country is freedom of expression.  It is one of the core principles of a free society.  Unfortunately, people seem to be forgetting that principle a lot these days.

Players in the NFL have the right to kneel during the playing of the national anthem.  Just like Donald Trump had the right to avoid being drafted--FIVE TIMES--and he's President of the United States.  I would argue that the players who take a knee are being more patriotic than Donald Trump has ever been.  They really are trying to make America great.

Saint Marty is thankful tonight for the First Amendment.  Read it while you still can.

November 13: Saving My Complaints

I'm not going to complain this evening about my long day.  It's a situation I myself have created, out of necessity and guilt.  First, I have long days because of my jobs at the hospital and university.  While most people are still asleep, dreaming sweet dreams without care, I am on the road to my first shift at the medical office.  Then I go teach at the university.  Then I return to the medical office for a little while longer.  Tonight, I am sitting in my office at the university, and it is almost 8 p.m.  My daughter is at dance.  I want my daughter to dance.  She loves it.  I'm not complaining.

The guilt part of my long days is all of my own making.  I have to post to my blog twice a day.  It is a rule I have made for myself.  It is an arbitrary rule, but a rule, nonetheless.  By blogging, I reason with myself, I keep my writing muscles flexed.  These posts are my way of feeling like a writer, even if I have an audience of only two or three.  I still have an audience, and that audience is interested in what I write.  If I don't post twice a day, I feel guilty, as if I'm letting my faceless disciples down.  Last night, I was up until past 11 p.m. getting my blog posts done, and all I really wanted to do was climb under the covers and sleep for about three years.  However, guilt got the best of me.  I'm not complaining.

I have been living like this for several years now.  I will continue to live like this, because I like to believe that people care about what I say.  People want their daily dose of Saint Marty wisdom/insanity.  This belief, whether based in reality or fantasy, keeps me going.  Keeps my battery charged.

Saint Marty is going to let poet Bob Hicok have the last word this evening.  Hicok wrote a poem about being a poet, and Saint Marty thinks it's a fitting final punctuation to this post.

Making it in poetry

The young teller
at the credit union
asked why so many
small checks
from universities?
Because I write
poems I said.  Why
haven't I heard
of you?  Because
I write poems
I said.

This guy gets the last word