What a Fool Believes

Ralph Nader is running for president again.

His name on the ballot in Florida in 2000 probably led us to 8 years of George W. Bush, but Mr. Nader is unrepentant. He said last Sunday "If the Democrats can't win by a landslide this year, they don't deserve to govern." Well, that's one way to look at it.

Mr. Nader apparently believes that his is the only voice in America speaking about poverty, the environment or universal health care, and that running for president is the only way to be heard.

I struggled to find a poem to express my feelings about Ralph Nader, and finally came up with song lyrics written by Michael McDonald and Kenny Loggins:

What a Fool Believes

He came from somewhere back in her long ago
The sentimental fool dont see
Tryin hard to recreate
What had yet to be created once in her life

She musters a smile
For his nostalgic tale
Never coming near what he wanted to say
Only to realize
It never really was

She had a place in his life
He never made her think twice
As he rises to her apology
Anybody else would surely know
Hes watching her go

But what a fool believes he sees
No wise man has the power to reason away
What seems to be
Is always better than nothing
And nothing at all keeps sending him...

Somewhere back in her long ago
Where he can still believe theres a place in her life
Someday, somewhere, she will return

She had a place in his life
He never made her think twice
As he rises to her apology
Anybody else would surely know
Hes watching her go

But what a fool believes he sees
No wise man has the power to reason away
What seems to be
Is always better than nothing
Theres nothing at all
But what a fool believes he sees...

Possibilities

One of the secretaries at work loves Obama. She says his speeches are so fine, they show her the possibilities. And I think that may be his appeal to a lot of people.


As Emily Dickinson said:

I dwell in Possibility –
A fairer House than Prose –
More numerous of Windows –
Superior – for Doors –

Of Chambers as the Cedars –
Impregnable of Eye –
And for an Everlasting Roof
The Gambrels of the Sky –

Of Visitors – the fairest –
For Occupation – This –
The spreading wide my narrow Hands
To gather Paradise –

A Poem for McCain

I won't vote for McCain. He's a conservative, and I'm not, and that's the end of it. I respect him as an opponent, however, which is more than I can say for some of the other Republicans.

Here is a poem by Lewis Carroll that reminds me of McCain:

Father William

"You are old, Father William," the young man said,
"And your hair has become very white,
And yet you incessantly stand on your head -
Do you think, at your age, it is right?"
"In my youth," Father William replied to his son,
"I feared it might injure the brain;
But, now that I'm perfectly sure I have none,
Why, I do it again and again."

"You are old, "said the youth, "as I mentioned before,
And have grown most uncommonly fat;
Yet you turned a back-somersault in at the door -
Pray, what is the reason of that?"
"In my youth, "said the sage, as he shook his grey locks,
"I kept all my limbs very supple
By the use of this ointment - one shilling the box -
Allow me to sell you a couple?"

"You are old, " said the youth, "and your jaws are too weak
For anything tougher than suet;
Yet you finished the goose, with the bones and the beak -
Pray, how did you manage to do it?"
"In my youth," said his father, "I took to the law
And argued each case with my wife;
And the muscular strength, which it gave to my Jaw,
Has lasted the rest of my life."

"You are old," said the youth, "one would hardly suppose
That your eye was as steady as ever;
Yet you balanced an eel on the end of your nose -
What made you so awfully clever?"
"I have answered three questions, and that is enough,"
Said his father; "don't give yourself airs!
Do you think l can listen all day to such stuff?
Be off or I'll kick you down stairs!"

More Politics

New Hamphire has spoken, and in the interests of fairness, a poem for Obama:

by Edna St Vincent Millay

Thursday

And If I loved you Wednesday,
Well, what is that to you?
I do not love you Thursday—
So much is true.

And why you come complaining
Is more than I can see.
I loved you Wednesday,--yes-- but what
Is that to me?

Politics

I love the political process. It would be a better game than football if there wasn't so much at stake. Poor Hilary. The media had crowned her invincible and inevitable, but now that Iowa has spoken, they are writing her off as finished. Neither bit of hype is true. And what about Huckabee? As someone said on TV this morning, all the Republican pundits in the the country are looking around saying "What the Huck happened?" Huckabee is pretty much an idiot in my book. His views on taxation alone are enough to show he doesn't know what he's doing. I've had enough prayer in the White House. Let's elect someone who is competent.

Any of the Democrats would do.

And now, a poem for Hilary:

by Edna St. Vincent Millay

I shall forget you presently, my dear,
So make the most of this, your little day.
You little month, your little half a year,
Ere I forget, or die, or move away,
And we are done forever; by and by
I shall forget you, as I said, but now,
If you entreat me with your loveliest lie
I will protest you with my favorite vow.
I would indeed that love were longer-lived,
And vows were not so brittle as they are,
But so it is, and nature has contrived
To struggle on without a break thus far,
Whether or not we find what we are seeking
Is idle, biologically speaking.