POVERTY AS A POEM

To use a statistic to describe poverty
is to turn a human being into a number,
the moral antithesis of compassion.

Yet The World Bank, The International
Monetary Fund, The United Nations
all use statistics when talking and writing
about poverty.

Nazis turned human beings into numbers
by using indelible ink when they wrote them
on the arms of those they soon were to ****.

One human being in poverty on Earth is
one too many.

My nouns and adjectives are different:
starvation, hopelessness, illnesses,
slums, violence, death.

There are over 2,800 billionaires in the
world right now.

How much has each given to end world
poverty? How many of them have held
in his or her arms the body of a child
who has died of poverty?

Not enough, not nearly enough.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

WHY DO WE **** OUR
BROTHERS AND SISTERS,
AND OUR HOME?

I’m sure you remember seeing the
photgraph of Earth taken from the
Moon. Did you not have an epiphany
at that moment? Did you see any
black lines separating one region of
Earth from another? Of course you
didn’t, because political boundaries
are illusory. What you saw was one
beautiful planet with a number of
billion human beings attempting to
co-exist on it. You saw one sky that
covered all of Earth and one ocean
that covered most of it. You saw huge
chunks of Earth, which we call conti-
nents. If you had been on the Moon
with a powerful telescope, you would
have seen big cities where millions
of human beings lived often in many
different ways:  different cultures,
different religions, different languages,
different skin colors, different
shaped physical features. But
all would have been breathing the
same air, drinking essentially the same
water that comes from the same
atmosphere, all sharing the same
home, the only home that billions
of human beings have, or will be
able to have, for a terribly long
time. If you were able to go far
enough back in time, genealogically
you would understand that all of us
are related, that all of us are, if
you will, distant brothers and
sisters. We human beings are
one big family. So I must ask, why
do will **** our brothers and sisters?
Why? Instead, why don’t we have
a continuous, worldwide family
reunion during which we could
get to know each other, give each
other a hug, perhaps find someone
we love and marry that human be-
ing? Think of all that the billions
of us could share with one another:
the music, the dancing, the food,
for example. Together we could
plan for world peace. We could
join hands and hearts and find
ways to save our home from
annihilation from catastrophic
climate change and nuclear
holocaust. We could laugh together.
We could pray together;  after all,
we all pray to the same God;  it’s just
that we call God by different names.
Our home, Earth, is but one of an
infinite number of planets in the infinite
Cosmos. But it is the only one we now
have. Why **** when we could live our
lives in perpetual love?

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

When love is your currency, all else is counterfeit.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

Wealth is not worth.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

My religion is LOVE. So is my politics.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

Baez, Dylan, and I sat on a big light blue sheet
in Central Park on a Sunday afternoon. I had paid
for the carriage ride. Dylan played his harmonica.
Baez sang "Diamonds and Rust." I wrote a poem.
The sky was azure blue. Children with their
mothers played on the expanse of grass. Hundreds of
people were jogging. Others were riding their bikes.
Frisbees were flying through the air.  We had brought
a picnic lunch. Turkey and avocado sandwichs,
oranges and grapes, chips and wine. "Scratch my back,"
Dylan asked Baez.  I told the two about my growing
up in Topeka, Kansas. Baez had her legs crossed and
Dylan lay back and rested his head in her lap. We
talked about Simon and Garfunkel, how beautiful
their songs were, and what a shame it was that
they had stayed together only three years. A
Golden Retriever pulling its leash came up to
Dylan's face and licked it. Dylan reciprocated,
scratching the dog behind its ears. Peace is a
gentle thing, and the three of us shared it for
almost the whole afternoon.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

Life, as we all know, is not easy.
Every day we we must make countless
decisions. Our goal is to make the
right decision in order to live our life
to its fullest potential. But how do we
know that each decision we make is
the best decision for us? We often seek
wise counsel from parents, teachers,
ministers, and others whom we admire
and respect. We are sometimes influenced
by our peers as we grow up. Ultimately,
though it is important to listen to others,
after we assimilate and synthesize all these
variegated ideas and suggestions, our best
bet is to turn inward and ask ourselves what
we feel is best for ourselves. Some call this
intuition. Others may call it following your
heart. I call it being true to yourself, or, to wax
poetic:  The Majority of One. None of us is
infallible, but notwithstanding, every nano-
second of our existence is a moment of our
life, and no one else's. So my recommendation
is to be intuitive, follow your heart, remain true
to yourself, and always be The Majority
of One.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks