It’s Time

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Monday Morning Musings

It’s Time

“Among the things Billy Pilgrim could not change were the past, the present, and the future.”
― Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

“All time is all time. It does not change. It does not lend itself to warnings or explanations. It simply is.
— Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five

I time-travel in memory, dreams, through

neuron portals, pages of books
shape-shifting, step-tracing

cloud-chasing, moon-racing

how sad to always be here (or not)

how sad not to remember—or care
about now—or then–

or who

whatever,

it happened,
the hate, the wars, the one to end all,
the ones that preceded,
the ones that followed,

though some will try to erase the pages,
burn the books, arrest the artists,
demonize the designated “others”—Jews,
immigrants, people of color, LBGTQ—

the cosplaying Nazis
have become real,
storm troopers douse rainbows
lightning bolts
bisect hearts

where have all the flowers gone?

Long time passing.

The flowers die to grow again.
The rabbits, chicks, and goslings come again.

Most parents protect,
instill “life lessons,” as my niece says,

(though some should never be parents, as
we all know.)

Still,
even the best, must let their fledglings go . . .

Time was and is.
Time will be—

Time is passing, time flows,
and we are the specks, the drops,
the rain and rivers, earth and sea.

So, it goes.

Hello again! Well, another week. On the positive side, I got to watch so many goslings! I was worried because I hadn’t seen many, but it seems they simply arrived later this year. I watched the two in the video, who had minds of their own, as their parents tried to get them to the river. Then I think I saw the same two the next day also as their parents tried to corral them. Sometimes parenting seems universal. 😂

But the world is a hot mess, as everyone who is paying attention knows. Every network, every newspaper, journalists everywhere should be calling out how insane the current regime is. None of this is normal!! Kristen Welker did calmly call him out, and he lied, acted like a spoiled toddler ,and walked out. I can’t keep track of the craziness. It’s been nonstop since he took office, but now it’s at a whole new level of insane. His Flag Day/ birthday celebration with the UFC monstrosity erected on the South Lawn of the White House? It’s shocking and disgusting, and probably illegal. You can read more here and here.

One of my senators, Sen. Andy Kim, has gone back to Delaney Hall –where he was pepper-sprayed—to check on conditions there again. He wasn’t allowed to speak to any of the people detained there, but what he saw concerned him (for example, an obviously ill woman).

My husband and I participated in two protests this week—one outside of a Citizens Bank. Citizens Bank funds the GEO Group, the organization the operates Delaney Hall and some other private prisons. There were a few MAGA types who called out, angry and obnoxious. But it’s only a few. Besides middle fingers and F- Yous, their big important comments were, “get a job (or life). And one guy who just kept yelling, “when was the last time you got laid?” Like, WTF? We’re protesting concentration camp funding, but he’s more concerned with showing he’s some kind of macho man. MAGA showing us who they are, right? But then there was a father and daughter who came and briefly joined our group. Someone told me they were from S. Carolina, and the girl wanted to join our protest while the mother was inside Wawa (a convenience store). I love that this will be part of her story; that she’ll be able to say remember that time when we were on vacation, and I helped and stood on the right side of history?

The other protest was our local Sunday morning protest. I think that one gets more positive reactions.

I’m not virtue-signaling here. I’m not doing the hard work out there like some people are, and I know it. I’m simply saying what I’m doing, as well as using my voice on this blog and in my poetry. I know not everyone can go out and protest. No one can do everything, but everyone can do something. Pick something you can do—call/write your Congress critters, donate money and/or supplies, write letters or postcards, help with voter drives, and combat dis and misinformation with facts. Here’s a roundup of mobilization events coming up. You can also check Mobilize and Indivisible for events where you are.

As you may have gathered, I re-read Slaughterhouse-Five by Kurt Vonnegut. I may have more to say about it in a future post. I remembered, too, the journalist Linda Ellerbee, who used to end her shows with “So, it goes.”

We went to the first Vino and Vibes of the summer at William Heritage Winery. It was at the start of hot weather here, but not humid, and there was a nice breeze, so it was quite comfortable. The next few days got hotter, though still not terribly humid, but we did put on the a/c. On Saturday afternoon, after the protest, we went to Buzby Farm. This is the farm that provides our wonderful weekly share. Every year they have an open house, where those with shares can pick some strawberries for free, and enjoy strawberry shortcake and lemonade. We didn’t go for the tour this year because we’d had enough sun by then!

We finished Margo’s Got Money Troubles. We ended up really enjoying it and getting invested in the characters. We’re still watching Widow’s Bay (episodes drop on Wednesdays), and we just started The Boroughs, which does seem kind of like Stranger Things with older people. I want to see where it’s going.

And speaking of going, it’s time.

Look for the helpers and be one if you can.

The Cure is Us (With Audio)

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Poem: “The Cure is Us” by Merril D. Smith, 2026.
published in These poems kill fascists, compiled by Fin Hall

I’m sharing this with dVerse Open Link Night. Slight quibble that my name is misspelled in the anthology.

Tomorrow, June 6, is the anniversary of D-Day, when the US, along with its allies (remember when we embraced democratic allies?)–nearly 160,000 troops– fought fascism on Normandy’s beaches in 1944. Now, we those in power are embracing fascism, racism, and White Supremacy. Tomorrow, some will be celebrating D(emocracy) Day.

Cat approved!

Something borrowed, something blue

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Dazzle Morning along the Delaware River, August 26, 2024, photo by Merril D. Smith

Something borrowed, something blue

The day is a present,
something borrowed from time,
white bread clouds
dip into a jammy egg sun—

something blue(sy) in river-sighs
mirroring the sky–
a breath in the riff

where the horn-honk of geese
slides through—

a memory savored, sipped,
unwrap the gift.

A pause in the current horrors of our world. For dVerse, the poetics prompt is to use or build on the old wedding rhyme,

“Something old, something new
Something borrowed, something blue
And a sixpence in her shoe.”

I didn’t know the sixpence line.

This is also a quadrille (a poem of 44 words) for the dVerse prompt where we were to use the word horn.

Hole/Whole

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Monday Morning Musings

Hole/Whole

“A great hole. In the middle of nowhere. The hole is an exact replica of the Great Hole of History.”
Suzan-Lori Parks, The America Play

Holes in history. Unnamed people, not rich, not important enough, not the right color or sex.

Clang! Thud!
Unburied, unearthed, fragments–
more questions.

The way we see the moon, in phases. But it’s always full, always there. Proximity, time, ever-changing faces. Pockmarked. Whole.

Holes
when a star dies,
ghost light

travels through time-space. Blinks to photons. Billions of years to us. So much light streaming in cloud-cracks, creating shadows. Buried, it reappears.

Clouds over the Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield, May 28, 2026 by Merril D. Smith

there in a tidepool. In a glass of wine. Glow.

Reborn
same laugh, same gestures,
generations

we don’t know but embody. Bodies. Memory-holes. False memories. Holes in the fabric of history, society, time.

Goose tracks, May 2026

The light in our eyes gone. Bone-dust in holes, in clouds, rivers, oceans, the air. Connected. Past and future. Hole-digging.
Bullet holes,
bomb craters,
deconstruction.

construction and reconstruction.

Holes. A whole lot.
Half-notes. Whole.

Hello, again! Something a little different today. I think people will probably hate it or love it. I was inspired by the play we saw on Saturday, The America Play by Suzan-Lori Parks. You can read more about it here.(Tria for wine, beer, and cheese afterwards.)

From the notes of director and character, “Foundling Father,” Lindsay Smiling”:

“Suzan-Lori Parks calls it ‘rep and rev’ repeat and revise. It’s a musical instruction as much as a philosophy. Return to a phrase, a moment, a wound, a myth. Play it again differently. With this lens, the reexamination of history becomes than a collection of facts. It is Parks’ insistence that history is not a fixed record so much as a performance we keep staging, sometimes faithfully, often carelessly, and too frequently, as suggests by setting this play at a replica of ‘The Great Hole of History” with whole people missing from the scene.”

The more I think about this play, the more I admire it. I like plays, books, movies that make me think. Of course, I’m always thinking about history, but right now there are real, physical holes that I can see, as well as the metaphorical ones. There’s the monstrosity of the White House and what the current resident (inmate?) is doing to it. Illegally. There are probably holes in his brain. There are gaps in his knowledge and understanding of the Constitution, laws, history, democracy, and on. His regime is trying to erase people and events. Websites are beginning scrubbed. Displays on slavery taken down, including this year at the President’s House in Philadelphia, which a judge stopped, at least temporarily.

At the same time, there are archeological holes dug every summer at the park where I walk. It was the site of an American Revolutionary War battle. History is still being done. The United States was never a Christian nation. It was always a nation that held people of many religions and colors. It has always been a nation of immigrants, even as restrictions have been put into place during various times.
This administration has been demonizing immigrants, especially those of color. These are NOT the worst of the worst. At Delaney Hall, where there are currently protests taking place because of the horrendous concentration camp treatment given to the detainees there, approximately 87% do NOT have criminal records. We heard one of our senators, Andy Kim, speak at a town hall style meeting on Thursday night. He had been inside the facility, a teenage girl, a high school senior, who wants only to graduate translated for him. He spoke with a woman who has been mostly separately from her newborn; a woman who miscarried, who has not received medical care; pregnant women who are not getting prenatal care. He heard about inedible food, saw the court docket—one judge who was supposed to rule on seventy-some cases a day, and on and on.

New Jersey has a primary election tomorrow. We voted early on Saturday. On Sunday morning we participated in the local weekly protest we haven’t done for a while. Some people there had been to Delaney Hall. One woman, a social worker, described how Proud Boys got a police escort, while protestors did not. We may be protesting more in the next few weeks. There are No Kings activities scheduled on June 14th, including a big concert in New York, as counterprogramming to the man in the White House’s fight fest extravaganza. (Seriously, imagine the outcry if ANY other president did this!)

https://riseupsingout.com

On Sunday afternoon, we went to a book club meeting. We discussed West With Giraffes, a novel inspired by a real event, two giraffes transported by truck across the country from NYC to San Diego during the Great Depression. I think this time opinion was evenly distributed between people who liked the book (I did) and people who did not. Some people, including my daughter, thought it was boring and repetitive. I did not. Most people who listened to the book did not like the narrator. Several people loved the book and rated it among the best books they’ve read. It wasn’t for me, but I did enjoy it and got caught up in the story. I saw a movie in my mind the whole time of this Depression era tale. I do think it would make a good movie. It was a beautiful day, so we got to sit outside at the brewery for this meeting. I don’t drink beer, but my husband, who had not read the book, enjoyed the beer and the pizza we ordered.

OK. I’ll stop here. Stand up for justice however you can. Stay safe and well.

Look for the helpers and be one if you can.

At the End of May (May Not)

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Vincent Van Gogh, Sower at Sunset, 1888

At the End of May (May Not)

The wind laughs,
does a dazzle-dance, almost-ghosts
devouring eternity with a breathy kiss.

And you? Given susurrus
and caramel sun melting in a
golden stream,

you ask for blue, for words,
for when, not if–

for time to linger with a smile,
hope’s feathers nested,
waiting.

My poem from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. I haven’t written one of these for a while.

In the Coming Days

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Sunflowers

In the coming days

let them tell ever more outrageous lies,
not thunderbolts, a swarm of flies, buzzing,
spreading disease and filth,

let them be toxic rain, quicksand,
wasteland, then

let me be the wildflower
rising from a pavement crack,

bird-scattered seeds,
bee-bedaubed pollen,

the smiling truth of sunflowers
blossoming under a bluejay sky.

Let me,
let us,
be.

For dVerse. The prompt was to write a poem using “let them” and/or “let me.” You can read the details here.

Mirroring

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Monday Morning Musings

Mirroring

“What can memory be in these terrible times?

Only instruction. Not a dwelling.”
–Diane Seuss, “Weeds”

“Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.”
–Sylvia Plath, “Mirror”

“Every record has been destroyed or falsified, every book rewritten, every picture has been repainted, every statue and street building has been renamed, every date has been altered. And the process is continuing day by day and minute by minute. History has stopped. Nothing exists except an endless present in which the Party is always right.”
― George Orwell, 1984

On this Memorial Day,

there are roses
and rain, a rambling rush
of scent, redolent, recalling the past–

there are geese
and goslings, a gamboling few,
fewer than last year,

later, there will be parades,
and cookouts, drumbeats

and drumsticks, hotdogs,
children roasting marshmallows, perhaps,

there will be parties and graduates

and a party

celebrating its efforts
to erase history.

There will be flags waving,
and proud flag wavers

who march over
what it truly represents.

Somewhere,
there will be drones, bombs,
civilians killed,
children murdered,
spouses disappeared and deported,

there will be hunger
and hunger strikes.

I look at myself
in mirrors, in photos,

through time’s
infinite reflections

caught in infinite light,
so many me’s.

There are,
there will
be echoes of history,

there is always then
and now,

there is always remembering
and doing.

There is always hate.
There is always love.

Today, there are roses
and rain, transitory,

and a river of time
flowing onwards.

Good morning! Well, it’s been another week. Again, I can’t keep up with it all. The present regime is attempting to erase history while rewarding treasonous and convicted criminals. Well, look at our felon president. I’m wondering if he will recognize that today is Memorial Day, and what lies he might spout and what rants and AI slop he might post. Ballroom, bunker, and golden arch (like McDonald’s?) seem to be what he’s most focused on. Perhaps, he’ll simply spend another day golfing. I can’t ever forget Melania’s, “I don’t care, do you?” jacket. That should be his regime’s slogan.

There were protests at Delaney Hall, an ICE “facility” in Newark, NJ, over the weekend. Those detained there have apparently launched a hunger strike, though ICE officials deny it. There hasn’t been much coverage that I’ve seen. Senator Andy Kim and Rep. Rob Menedez toured the detention center prior to the strike. I watched Senator Kim describe the horrendous conditions there. I hope to hear him talk at a town meeting later this week. Gov. Mikie Sherrill is trying to get access.

The weather continues to be crazy. We had extreme heat early last week, then a cooler, cloudy day before a cold, rainy weekend. On our rainy Saturday, we watched a movie, and I made homemade pizza with enough to put two in the freezer.) We saw Miroirs No. 3, a new film by Christian Petzold and starring Paula Beer. The name of the movie comes from a Ravel piece that you will most likely recognize if you hear it. Beer’s character, a piano student, plays some of it in the film.You probably won’t know the director or actor’s names if you don’t watch German films. 😊 I’ve seen and enjoyed several of his films, and Beer has starred in several of them. His movie, Transit, has stayed with me, but I want to rewatch it because my husband doesn’t remember it. So, this is another Merril movie. It’s not an action film. It plays with the idea of mirroring. I read that Petzold is kind of obsessed with Hitchcock and Vertigo.

Yesterday (Sunday), we went to a graduation party for our great niece (college) and great nephew (high school). His graduation hasn’t taken place yet; hers has. Both of them will be starting summer sessions—she in grad school for social work, and he beginning university. It had stopped raining for the party, and there were tables outside, but it was chilly, so I parked myself on a sofa between my brother and sister for most of the afternoon. There was a lot of food and many people, and I hope the graduate and soon-to-be graduate were pleased.

Thank you to those who have given their lives for freedom and democracy. Don’t let their sacrifices be in vain.

On a positive note, Heather Cox Richardson is launching series of short videos, “to honor the 250th anniversary of the Declaration of Independence, we decided to launch a series of one-minute videos that highlight the people, places, and events that have helped to move us toward a more perfect Union.”

https://heathercoxrichardson.substack.com/p/may-24-2026

Look for the helpers and be one if you can.

Some random cat photos.

New Published Poems

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Happy Sunday! It’s pouring rain here right now, but I hope it will be ending soon.

I have poems out in two anthologies. I’m waiting to receive both of them.

My poem, “The Cure is Us” is in These Poems Kill Fascists, compiled by Fin Hall. Available here.

https://www.lulu.com/shop/fin-hall/these-poems-kill-fascists/paperback/product-kv7q5nk.html?q=these+poems+kill+facists&page=1&pageSize=4&fbclid=IwY2xjawR_v3RleHRuA2FlbQIxMABicmlkETFNZ2IxWjNZQWI3N3BiN204c3J0YwZhcHBfaWQQMjIyMDM5MTc4ODIwMDg5MgABHjwFJIt6mq7HuFEzeEim844T2mGLg3N2g7dPRaBLH2BLLDihyFsSmefgzXTa_aem_4XpeqyR3srd3dK8iGDSCiw

I have three poems in Unhoused from Prolific Pulse Press. Here’s the trailer:

It’s available on Amazon or through the Prolific Pulse Website.

Bearing Witness, Poem and Video

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Bearing Witness by Merril D. Smith

Bearing Witness

I write of masked men, zip-tied children,
Liam with his bunny hat—the schoolgirls–

I write of kidnappings, deportations,
and renditions—concentration camps—
though no yellow stars sewn to coats—not yet.

I write of billionaires getting richer,
the hypocrisy, the corruption, a ballroom, the slush fund–

a Supreme Court only in name, not quality,

the failing healthcare system, the lack of
oversight, loyalty to one man, ignorance, cleavage with a cross.

I write of wars as distraction, disinformation, of Epstein files
and predators, of follow the money, of coverups—

but I think of trees older than me,
and the nearby river—bearing witness, too–

robins, mockingbirds, sparrows singing of love,
for love, there is still love

under fresh-washed blue
bees buzz, roses bloom, a couple holds hands,

but there will be no cherries, nectarines, peaches,
or apples this year—freak heat and freak frost, our climate lost.

A little girl plays hopscotch, dogs bark and wag from yards,

a cry in the dark, words into cyberspace—I write

too much, not enough,
something.

This is a poem I wrote for Poems About on Bluesky. And this is my first attempt at a video. I’ll get better. 😂I thought this was a poem that should be heard, and I thought I’d try to give people something to look at, too. Sharing this with dVerse Open Link.

Book Review: Scrap by Luanne Castle

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Scrap: Salvaging a Family by Luanne Castle

From the back cover: “Scrap: Salvaging a Family is a hybrid flash memoir tracing the long shadow of childhood fear and the complexities of forgiving a dying parent. As a daughter uncovers her father’s painful origins, she begins to understand the man behind the anger–and reclaims pieces of herself in the process.”

This is a long overdue review. I’ve admired Luanne Castle’s writing for a long time, and I was eager to read Scrap. Scrap is beautifully crafted, with the word “scrap” in imagery and metaphor throughout. The book’s epigraph from Umberto Eco states, “We are formed by little scraps of wisdom.”

Although I knew the book detailed Castle’s troubled relationship with her father, the way both parents treated her as a child affected me. After starting the book, I had to put it down for some time—but not because it’s not good. I simply was not in the right frame of mind to read it then, so soon after my older sister’s sudden death, and as I was approaching the anniversaries of my parents’ deaths. I never experienced any cold behavior or harsh treatment from my parents. Of course, they were flawed beings, as are we all, but I was never spanked, had my mouth washed out with soap, or forced to sit at the table till I cleaned my plate. I was pleased that Castle states at one point that despite everything, she never doubted her parents’ love for her, and she and her father reconcile.

Once I returned to Scrap, I read it through in one afternoon. I couldn’t stop; I was so caught up in the story! The book begins with the revelation that her father was a bastard. Castle explains the several meanings of the word, and how in the time and place in which her father grew up, it was a stigma that left him shamed and angry. To me, it seems that secrecy more than illegitimacy produced generations of suffering. Castle’s father’s father was a well-respected doctor who not only had this secret family, but who also doctored his own past.

The book is written mostly in brief, impressionistic flash stories. Each is a moment; a memory filtered through time. Just as the collage on the book cover is made up of individual words and images to make one possible whole, so do the stories in Scrap. (Castle’s brother is barely mentioned, and she explains he had a very different relationship with their father.) Castle’s writing is lyrical, imagistic, and assured, as it should be after years of honing. I don’t think Castle could have written this book earlier. Like a good stew, it needed to simmer. The flavors had to blend over time, a little of this and that had to be added. Scrap is a book to be savored for its originality and perspective.

Luanne, it’s cat-approved!

Scrap can be purchased through the publisher or Amazon.

https://elj-editions.com/scrap-salvaging-a-family/