You are asleep and I lie beside you. How is it
that you can create tenderness and transcendence
when you are in stillness? Yes, the gentle breeze
of summer's night blows through the open window
and wafts through your golden hair, but you are
deep in slumber, and only the flame of the yellow
candle on the dresser top acknowledges this susurrus.
There is upon us a deep silence as the full moon
slowly makes its way across night's sky. I am now
carefully on my elbow gazing at your iridescent
visage. I turn my head and look at the mirror that
doubles my pleasure. Can I be this blessed even
for a moment? Serenity surrounds us. I lean over
to kiss your forehead lightly. Imagine a lifetime of
bliss, nightimes of joy, sharing with you in silence
the fullness of loving and being loved as the moon
passes by, as the yellow candle's flame flickers
like the vicissitudes of life, but knowing all the
while that gentle breezes will blow all unease and
uncertainties away as the sun begins to rise.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

At least they roll the credits slowly--
I mean, at the end of DOWNTON ABBEY,
the hundreds who worked their butts off
so you and I could see the stars on screen.
We human beings have been delusional
for millennia. Pharaohs, emperors, kings,
presidents, not to mention tycoons, millionaires--
now billionaires--and "prominent" people
from all walks of life, those who attended
Eton and Andover, the Ivies and Oxbridge
thinking as though they are inherently
better--superior, as it were--to all others
when, in truth, all human beings--indeed,
all creations--share the same divinity.
What a grand illusion it has been, Civilization,
from Sumer to the present! Willl we ever see
truth? Will we ever know that we are all one?
Or will we all perish from catastrophic
climate change or nuclear holocaust before
we achieve enlightenment?

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

It was 1956. I was in the sixth grade.
I opened the top of my desk. There
was my wooden ruler. I had an idea.
In my mind, I took my ruler to the big
window in our classroom. In my mind,
my wooden ruler had on it two magic
buttons--one to elongate the ruler, the
other to activate the magic drill on the
other end of my magic ruler. I opened
the big window a bit so I could stick my
ruler outside. Then I pressed the
magic button to elongate my ruler,
which it did. The ruler began to elongate,
first through the tree limbs and branches,
then through the sky and clouds,
then through the rest of Earth’s
atmosphere, then through space,
through our solar system, then
through our galaxy, then through
deep space, and then through
deeper and deeper and deeper
space until it hit something that
stopped my magic ruler from
elongating further. The magic drill
bit could drill through anything for-
ever, so I pressed the magic button
to activate the magic drill bit. It began
to drill through whatever had stopped
my magic ruler from elongating and
continued to drill for a long, long time.
Finally, the magic drill bit drilled all
the way through whatever had been
blocking my magic ruler, so I pressed
again the magic button to start my magic
ruler to start elongating again. After a
long, long time, I realized I could go
on forever, so I began to retract it.
Eventually, it came back through the
open classroom window.

Then I took my 12-inch wooden ruler
back to me desk. I had another idea.
This time I didn’t need a magic ruler,
just the one I had. But I did need a
pencil and a piece of paper, which I
found inside my desk. I put the ruler,
the pencil, and the piece of paper on
the top of my desk. The I began di-
viding the 12-inch ruler mathematically
in half, first from 12 inches to six inches,
then into three inches, then into 1 ½,
then into 3/4ths, then into 3/8ths, then
into 3/16ths, then into 3/32ths, then
into 3/64ths, then into 3/128ths, and so
on. If I had wanted to, I could have gone
on forever.

This is how Iearned in sixth grade, by
myself, that infinity was reality, not what
appeared to be finite. I speculated, there-
fore, that if one person stared through
the most powerful telescope that ever
could be made and a another person
stared through the most powerful
microscope that ever could be made,
they would wind up staring at each other.

Copyright 2019 Tod Howard Hawks

ILLUSIONS OF SEPARATENESS

Different does not mean separate.
So why do we have racism, hate,
****** of those who are different,
but not separate, from us, as well
as a seemingly inexorable proclivity
to destroy Earth and all living creations
on it.? Is this an aberration in the extreme?
If so, it is a grotesque and deadly illusion
that has been with us for countless
millennia. Why? A gross ignorance
that has begotten insecurity and brought
us to the edge of extinction? But we
know better now, or at least we
should. John Donne was prescient:  
“Every man is a piece of the continent,
a part of the main.” We are one, both
ecologically and spiritually. Ecolog-
Ically, we know that if we pollute the
Mississippi River, we ineluctably will
pollute the Indian Ocean. Spiritually,
we all pray to the same creator of the
Universe, but call the creator by dif-
ferent names. Can’t you see these
truths? If you cannot, you are myopic
ecologically and spiritually. Get your
ecological and spiritual eye sight
checked immediately.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

Words are wondrous. Somehow in fourth grade I read a biography of Noah Webster, who compiled and published the first dictionary of American English. That got me hooked. I have been a poet since my early 20s. Words are not to be used to be pedantic;  rather, they're chosen to be the 'precise" word, the exact word, to convey to the reader as chearly as possible what the poet wishes to convey. Words in a poem are chosen for their timbre, their tone, their color, their heft in a way similar to how Beethoven chose the exact note for the exact place in the work he was composing, the admixture eliciting the precise effect he wanted his work to have on his audience. I read dictionaries while others read detective stories. I am the only person I know of who reads a college book on English grammar for fun. Some of the words I enjoy using:  "meretricious" means ******;  '"veridical" means speaking the truth;  "threnody" means a song of lamentation;  "solipsistic" means egocentric;  "adjure" means to entreat;  "dithyramb" means a Dionysian choric hymn;  "mare's nest" means a hoax;  "phatic" means noise, but no substance;  "bootless" means futile;  "rebarbative" means grim;  "truculent" means surly;  "esprit d'escalier" means a witticism that comes after it could have been uttered;  "Stygian" means gloomy;  "surcease" (as a noun) means cessation;  "rubric" a category;  "meliorist" means a person who believes the world can be made better;  and "obloquy" means verbal abuse. Just memember, there's still the Oxdord English Dictionary (20 volumes).

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

I’M NOT SURE WHAT LIFE IS FOR

I’m not sure what life is for.
It is not for things outside us:
avenues, avarice, Aspen’s
avalanches, acquisitions.
It may be for caresses, kisses,
tender touches, ceaseless
times of silence, holding,
murmurs. I think life is for
love and loving. Love is
more than time. It is the
Cosmos.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

I never met Jesus. I wish
I had. I think we would have
hit it off. I mean, he had impor-
tant things to share. Maybe
we could have shared some
wine. I would have asked him
how he grew up, what kinds of
games he played when he
was a boy, when did he first
realize he was different
from his friends, why he
waited 30 years before he
began to share his truths
with others, that he didn’t
tell those around him how to
get rich, but how to love one
another. I would have
shared my beliefs with him,
that all creations in the
Cosmos are sacred, that
there is a hell, but that
it was life on earth, that
the Supreme Being would
never torture anyone, only
love those who had never
been loved enough, if at all,
that his power was Love,
that everyone’s power is
Love. At times we would
have laughed with each
other, and, at other times,
cried together.

Copyright 2019 Tod Howard Hawks

Infinity is reality is love is all is one is infinity.

Copyright 2019 Tod Howard Hawks

Most people don't know this, but the cover story was that she had
written the famous Italian movie director telling him she wanted to
be in one of his films, so she left her own Hollywood career, left
America and went to Italy. The true story ts that Ingrid and I were
in love. Nobody but she and I knew. We traveled incognito first
to Aspen and made love all day then went to a 5-star restaurant
to eat. We spent about a week there, then flew to Vancouver in
British Columbia where we boarded the famous Canadian train
that went from west all across the country to the east. In Quebec,
we again spent all day in bed making more love, then spent the
evening walking the streets hand in hand after dinner. Ingrid
was the most beautiful woman I ever met in my life. But her
beauty was not just physical;  it was more than that. it was a
combination of ineffable qualities that flowed from deep within
her and gave her a magical, mystical aura. From Montreal, we
flew to Mexico City, then took a Mercedes Benz bus north to
San Miguel de Allende where we stayed in a little cottage for
several months. I remember distinctly ever moment we ever
made love, yet at the same time, all my memories would from
time to time become a endless movie of kisses and caresses and
wild, wondrous orgasisms of indescribable ecstasy. It seemed as
though our torid romance lasted forever, but it did not;  and yet
our separartion, when it occurred, seemed somehow preordained
and there was no acrimony, no bitterness, just the afterglow of
love that stays with me to this moment. I am a blessed man, a
blessed man.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

What if we embrace our foes?
I must say you will have new friends.
What if we break bread with Blacks?
I must say all colors are beautiful.
What if we touch only one heart?
I must say all hearts all one.
What if we love all and all and all?
I now need say no more.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

Insanity exsists, in an individual and in humanity. You can get it rare,
medium, or well done. Right now, it seems humanity is ready to order.
Humanity most recently ordered WW I, WW II, The Korean War, The VietNam War, The Iraq Wars (Papa Bush and W), The Afghanistan War
(ditto), Syria, Yemen. ad nauseum. Insanity often results in killings, but
I would argue that it is self-induced, that had there been benevolent,
professional intervention, we could have prevented these mass muder-
fests. But hey, wars, especially big world wars, are money-makers,
and the money-makers are not the ones being killed. And then there are
variations on this theme:  catasphrophic climate change and the imminent
threat of nuclear holocaust. One can get carried away with this killing
stuff, you know. And, what would you like for desert?

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

If I gaze long enough at a lilac bloom,
will it tell me why it smells so fragrant?
If I sit long enough with a loaf of bread
freshly baked, will it share with me why
it is so delicious? If I wander down a path
unknown, will it tell me where it will take
me? If I am before a crowd and speak
my truths, does it matter whether any
applaud? If I grow silent, will I find these
answers? If you are always your real self,
in silence you will hear what's true.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

I won't live no more  
in that old shrunk white house.
I'll live in them woods.
I'll live in them fields.
I'll live in them mountains
or on the beach.
I won't have to listen
to all them dumb ads
on TV, all them commercials
about fat burgers that will **** ya,
cheap, glossy fake diamond rings,
new cars that look all alike,
insurance guys that make me sick.
I'll lie under the sky and sing
to them stars, kiss the sun good morning,
enjoy the company of deer and squirrels,
find the freshest air and breathe it,
the clearest water and drink it.
I'll be free 'til I die, and free forevermore
when I do. I won't live no more
in that old shrunk white house.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

I remember eating peas one at a time, because that's how I ate them at the
last supper mother and I were together before she had to leave Andover
to return to Topeka, Kansas. My lovely mother. I think she came to An-
dover for three days to see me. It was during the Fall. I had to be in the run-
ning for the loneliest student at Andover. I remember her walking in her
high heels crossing one of the roads leading to the Andover vs. Exeter
football game that Saturday afternoon. I cared nothing about the game.
I was so lonely, so miserable at Andover that I was to ashamed to tell my
mother how I truly felt. I simply held my sorrow deep inside of me while I
gazed at her incessantly, trying to soak up every nanosecond of her being
in my presence. It was bitterly ironic that my mother being with me, within
my sight for every possible moment, rendered every ritual of the "Andover-Exeter Weekend" meaningless to me. I was oblivious to everything except my mother. So, in early Sunday afternoon, mother and I had our last supper at some upscale restaurant down the highway that ran along to boundary of Andover's campus. And all I remember about that meal was that whatever I ate I remember only eating peas, eating only one pea at a time, hoping I would never, never run out of them, which, of course, I did. Mother drove me back to my dorm, gave me a kiss on the cheek,  let me out, and drove away until I could no longer see the car she had been driving. After quite a long pause, I entered the dorm, walked up the iron stairs, opened the door and then closed it after entering, lay on my bed, and cried as quietly as I could for a long, long time.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

Is a candle
more a candle
when its yellow wax
is flowing?

Is a fire
more a fire
when its orange flame
is glowing?

Is a man
more a man
when his feelings he
is knowing?

Ask a flower
ask a woman
when her petals
start unfolding.

Copyright 2019 Tod Howard Hawks

I have come to lay my head
on green hills, to lay my body
in verdant valleys, to let my
fears dissipate like grey smoke
from distant camp fires. I have
come to be among the pine and
dogwood trees, to let the apple
blossoms soften my sadness.
The sinuous White River speaks:
"Deliver unto me your heartaches
and tribulations. Let my tributaries--
the creeks and streams, the rills
and rivulets--wash away your
worries. I shall brook no sorrows."

Copyright 2019 Tod Howard Hawks

I shall write of simple things.
I shall write of dark skies and
black dogs, gardens full of red
tomatoes and green spinach,
of small streets where children
walk through the haze of distant
summers. I shall write of mountains
and men, of the sea, of fishes and
porpoises and whales. I shall be
among the plains and write of
old ranch hands with gnarled
fingers and leathered countenances.
I shall tell of cities and concrete
and lies, of schools and scoldings,
of hurts and healings. I shall whisper
of things human, of love and lone-
liness, of suffering and supplication,
of tender moments and terror. I
shall write of the simple and profound,
for they are one, borne of the same
center, which we call infinity.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

Is that not a dove coming through the clouds,
sweeping down to bless our crown with love,
gentle wings to caress our forehead, soft strokes
to remind us of our innate kindness, a blindness
no man has in his heart? Is that not a dove
coming through the clouds, its provenance
above the sun, though cool with the countenance
of caring, a daring feat of a celestial being?
Give thanks for this tender gift that reminds us
of our eternal tie to a sky that brushes different
facets of our face. Is that not a dove coming
through the clouds?

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

IT MATTERS NOT

It matters not how many
like your poems. Shakespeare
wrote 154 sonnets. I have but
one favorite:  the 73rd.
Shelly wrote “Ozmandias.” I
still do not like it. John Donne’s
piece of writing, which someone
turned into a poem, from which
Hemingway pulled the phrase
“For Whom the Bell Tolls” that
he used as the title of one of
his novels (a common practice
with which I do not agree) is
my favorite. Frost’s poems “The
Road Not Taken” and “Mending
Wall” are my two favorites, but he
wrote many poems (he wrote poems
better than he could recite them).
Emily Dickinson wrote over 1,800
poems, but how many of them
can you remember verbatim?
It matters not how many like
your poems. What matters only
is if they are your poems, if they
come from your heart and soul,
if they write themselves as they
well up in you, not coerced, not
contrived, not fabricated. Do
you like your poems? That’s all
that matters.

Copyright 2019 Tod Howard Hawks

It matters not what others think of you,
but it matters greatly what you think
of your real self.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

It's never mattered what others thought of me.
As I now look back on my life, this was true
when I was growing up--in grade school, for
example. I had some friends;  I even had my
first girlfriend, Virginia Bright, whom I met
in the fourth grade. I had a dream about her
and the next day I chose her to read after I
had. She invited me to her church on Sunday
evenings to learn how to square dance. As I
continued to grow up, I got elected co-captains
and presidents, but I didn't seek them out--
they just seemed to come to me. I remember
I used to say hello to--befriend--classmates
who were not popular, most likely because
they were of a different race than most of us;
I didn't even think about our superficial
differences--I just liked them. That's the way
it's been my whole life. Perhaps over the
decades I grew to understand that bigots,
racists, were the way they were because
as they were growing up, they never were
loved enough, if at all, and as a result, suffered
great emotional pain, pain so great they un-
consciously tried to repress it, but could not,
so they unconsciously compensated for their
lack of being loved by accruing megawealth,
achieving power, not to empower others,
but to oppress them, and/or by gaining
fleeting fame. I feel sorry for these people.
Everyone needs to be loved.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

It's one in the morning.
I almost fell asleep.
But I keep going on.
Been reading about
James Taylor. He and
I are livin' the same
life, it seems, 'cept
he's been married 3
times, and I have never
been. Went through hard
times, drugs and all.
He hooked on ******,
I took ******. Both
went to prep school,
he to Milton, I at
Andover. Both of us
found them mean.
I mean to say that
James and I are one.
He was in mental
hospitals, as was I.
We vere very young.
Then he started singing
and I began to write.
In the night of life,
we we were together,
seems, songs he wrote,
I poetry. Ups and down,
but stayed the course.
His guitar and voice,
my pen and paper. He
got famous;  both of us
got well. He made millions
from songs he sang. My
poems are priceless, though,
sacred and sublime. What the
hell! Everyone has his trials.
Our verdicts were the same.
He sang songs he wrote,
I treasure my words and
feelings. James and I have
kind of met. I think we are
good friends.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

I walk more slowly now.
The miles are longer than they used to be.
I know where I want to go,
but now I forget to turn left and turn right.
Here comes a pretty woman.
I say hello as she passes,
but I hear nothing.
I saw her, but I guess she didn't see me.
I walk by trees and flowers
that used to be green and red
and yellow, but now are grey.
I need to get my glasses fixed,
but I cannot find them.
I miss Shep, my dearest friend ever.
I hear him barking,
but he died a year ago.
I walk more slowly now.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

I write when the river's down,
when the ground's as hard as
a banker's disposition and as
cracked as an old woman's face.
I write when the air is still
and the tired leaves of the
dying elm tree are a mosaic
against the bird-blue sky.
I write when the old bird dog,
Sam, is too tired to chase
rabbits, which is his habit
on temperate days. I write
when horses lie on burnt grass,
when the sun is always
high noon, when hope melts like
yellow butter near the kitchen
window. I write when there
are no cherry pies in the
oven, when heartache comes
like a dust storm in early
morning. I write when the
river's down, and sadness
grows like cockle burs in
my heart.

Tod Howard Hawks

I write when the river's down,
when the ground's as hard as
a banker's disposition and as
cracked as an old woman's face.
I write when the air is still
and the tired leaves of the
dying elm tree are a mosaic
against the bird-blue sky.
I write when the old bird dog,
Sam, is too tired to chase
rabbits, which is his habit
on temperate days. I write
when horses lie on burnt grass,
when the sun is always
high noon, when hope melts like
yellow butter near the kitchen
window. I write when there
are no cherry pies in the
oven, when heartache comes
like a dust storm in early
morning. I write when the
river's down, and sadness
grows like cockle burs in
my heart.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

I write when the river's down,
when the ground's as hard as
a banker's disposition and as
cracked as an old woman's face.
I write when the air is still
and the tired leaves of the
dying elm tree are a mosaic
against the bird-blue sky.
I write when the old bird dog,
Sam, is too tired to chase
rabbits, which is his habit
on temperate days. I write
when horses lie on burnt grass,
when the sun is always
high noon, when hope melts like
yellow butter near the kitchen
window. I write when there
are no cherry pies in the
oven, when heartache comes
like a dust storm in early
morning. I write when the
river's down, and sadness
grows like cockle burs in
my heart.

Copyright 2019 Tod Howard Hawks

For along time, I've felt James Taylor and I are spiritual brothers. Even though Taylor was born in Boston and I in Dallas, the former grew up in North Carolina and I in Kansas. His father was a physcian, mine an attorney. Taylor attended Milton Academy, I graduated from Andover. Taylor began to experience serious emotional problems in prep school;  I had to drop out of law school when I could not sleep. We are both in our 70s now, I a bit older than he. Taylor spent time in several psychiatric hospitals in and around New England. I spent a couple of years at Menningers, ironically only a half block from where I grew up. Taylor learned how to play the guitar and began to sing the songs he composed. I, in turn, began to write poetry when in therapy I discovered I had feellngs--my own feelings--and when they unconsciously married my intellect, and out popped my first poem:  WHAT A GOOD LITTLE BOY. Many others were to fellow, but all my poems write themselves. I can still feel when a poem is rising up within me. It feels like a Kundalini arising. My job is only to "record" it, which is to say, grab a pencil or a pen, perhaps a tpyewritter, now a deskstop computer. Each poem begins in my unconscious where lie all its components--syntax, diction, all my emotions:--then moves into my subconscious, and finally into my conscious mind. And that's the moment I have to "record" it, because if I don't do that immediately, my poem floats into the infinite Cosmos never to be found again. Writing a poem is like making love:  if you have to force it, stop. Poetry is like the ocean wind:  it blows only for those sails that are open. My sense is that Taylor has a similar experience when he composes. That's why I feel he and I are spiritual brothers.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

First, let me make it clear that I believe Jesus was divine. But I also believe every human being on Earth is also divine, and that all creations in the infinite Cosmos are divine as well. Everything is divine, because the Supreme Being made everything, and in so doing, imbued everything with divinity. I have not been a member of an organized religion since I became an adult. I have not read the Bible. The Bible is about love. If it isn't, I don't want to read it;  if it is, then I've already read it. Love is what matters. Chapters and verses are superfluous, and using them are supercilious. So what about Jesus' cheeks? Didn't he say something like if someone hits you in the cheek, then turn your face a bit and let that someone hit you in your other cheek. So what was Jesus' message? His message was about love and loving. Jesus knew that if one acts out his/her pain on another, it is because that person, in all likelihood, had not been loved enough, if at all, during the his/her earliest of years;  consequently, that person was in a chasm of unconscious, unspeakable pain, which ineluctably manifests itself in acts ranging from unkindness to killing. One's behavior can be at the least rough and uncaring and at the worst murderous, if that person was never loved. His/her personhood, on the other hand, is always divine. Jesus was so prescient he understood this for what is was:  a human being acting violently because that human being was in a miasma of unconscious pain for lack of love. So turn your other cheek. It is an act that signals the truth that that interaction, and all similar interactions, are different only by degree, not by kind. The only real antidote to violence is love. But to love, you must first be loved. The Supreme Being knows this. Jesus knew this. And it is way past time for humanity to know this.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

Jesus wore only a robe.
He did not tell those who gathered
around him how to get rich. He
told them to love one another.

Today, the religions of the world
are of untold wealth. I suggest all sell
their manifold possessions and give all
the proceeds to the poorest of the poor.

Jesus wore only a robe.

Copyright 2019 Tod Howard Hawks

Is it not ironic that millions and millions of American
heterosexual teenagers more than over a half century
ago fell in love under the spell of Johnny Mathis's
love songs? I was one of them, and today I begin each
day listening to him sing his magical songs on YouTube
while I drink two cups of coffee with milk (ratio: 1: 1)
to wake up. I, like most of you, have spent much of
my free time listening to enchanting love songs. Someone
once asked me if I had a hobby. I paused for a few
moments, then replied, ""Yes, I do have a hobby. My
hobby is collecting beauty--beautiful music, beautiful
memories, beautiful sunsets, and the like." I think the
best single singer of my lifetime, male or female, is
Johnny Mathis, who is still alive and performing as
I write this. Remember "Chances Are," "The Twelth
of Never," "Wonderful, Wonderful" among countless
others? The irony of which I spoke? Johnny is gay.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

It took my over 30 years to discover Johnny Mathis's recording of UNBREAK MY HEART. I had been a big fan of his in the the late 50s and early 60s. I, like millions of other teenagers then, had fallen in love under the spell of his beautiful singing. My favorite songs were CHANCES ARE and THE TWELTH OF NEVER. I begin every morning now listening to his musical magic on YouTube. Why do I comment on Mathis' UNBREAK MY HEART? Because my sense is that Mathis emotionally enters the song as he sings it. This results in a transcendental experience, which one rarely has either in listening to a song or in viewing a painting or in reading a poem or in experiencing any other kind of artistic endeavor. It is virtually unique for anyone, and that is why I wanted to share it with all of you.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

Every language is a song, every dialect
a dialogue. Sounds without letters
conveyed love for millennia. **** nothing,
for all are our brothers and sisters. Wander
into woods, pick berries and seeds.
Say a prayer. Splash in a cool creek.
Make no path as you walk across an
open field. Hills become higher. Soon
they are mountains. Know snow. Find
your way to the ocean. Beaches tell you
you're there. Waves keep greeting you.
Sunrays  and warm breezes blow you
dry as you lie naked in the sand. Our
land is all of these. Say another prayer
and give thanks.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

I have listened to hundreds
of beautiful female voices,
but the best I've ever heard
is that of Karen Carpenter.
Karen's voice is simply celes-
tial. Never having had vocal
lessons, loving to play the
drums from the start, how
could this be? It happened
when she opened her mouth
once and sang a few lines.
What followed was a decade
of worldwide stardom, only
to die at the premature age
of 32 from anorexia. This
tragedy will remain with all
of us as we shall never stop
listening to her glorious gift
to mankind.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

How is it that a girl who had never sung
a note through high school, but played the
drums as well, or better, than the best drummers
in the world, started singing, and almost
instantly became what Paul McCartney called
the most beautiful voice on Earth? It is a
miracle and a mystery.

Karen Carpenter was this girl. A drummer,
and one of the best drummers in the world?
And then, seemingly when she opened her
mouth, instantly to have the most beautiful
voice on Earth? But it's all true. Ask Paul
McCartney if you don't believe me.

And anorexia nervosa, which killed her
when she was barely in her early 30s?
When I think of Karen and her early death,
I see a meteor in the night sky flying by
for just a few seconds, wondrous, breath-
taking, then gone. But I have this glorious
streak on videos and watch and listen to
them over and over and over again.

Where did she come from and where did
she go, so fleetingly, so dazzlingly? I shall
never know the answers to these questions,
nor, I'm afraid, will anyone else.

War no more. It kills millions and millions and millions. It negates the best in us:  kindness;  compassion:  and most of all, universal love. All those who ****, whether consciously or unwittingly, are mercenaries. Those who never pull a trigger, never drop a bomb, never bayonet a brother profit from atrocities. They make machine guns and sell them. They build bombers and sell shares of stock on Wall Street. Christ turned water into wine. CEOs of killing machines turn blood into fortunes, then build mansions made of murders. They would rather take a life than save one.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

This is an ode to the odious.

Racists, bigots, neo-Nazis, even an ex-president of the United States, members of militias, groups of sick men, and women, who **** those different from themselves:  Blacks, Jews, Asians, indigenous peoples, immigrants, human beings who have skin brown, yellow, and yes, black;  gays and lesbians;  human beings who practice different religions from their own--that is, if they practice any religion.

You are craven. You embrace only anonymity, except the few who spread your lies on social media. You all are terribly mentally ill.

I have a proposal for all of you:  **** ME FIRST.

I promise I will never **** you, because I **** nothing. All forms of life to me are sacred, even yours. I feel so sorry for you. You were not loved enough growing up, if at all.

Before you shoot me dead or run over me with your car or ******* up or set fire to where I live and burn me to death or lynch me after you have castrated me then burned me, I will say a prayer for you and tell all of you I love each of you.

**** me first.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

This is an ode to the odious.

Racists, bigots, neo-Nazis, even an ex-president of the United States, members of militias, groups of sick men, and women, who **** those different from themselves:  Blacks, Jews, Asians, indigenous peoples, immigrants, human beings who have skin brown, yellow, and yes, black;  human beings who practice different religions from their own--that is, if they practice any religion.

You are craven. You embrace only anonymity, except the few who spread your lies on social media. You all are terribly mentally ill.

I have a proposal for all of you:  **** ME FIRST.

I promise I will never **** you, because I **** nothing. All forms of life to me are sacred, even yours. I feel so sorry for you. You were not loved enough growing up, if at all.

Before you shoot me dead or run over me with your car or ******* up or set fire to where I live and burn me to death or lynch me after you have castrated me then burned me, I will say a prayer for you and tell all of you I love each of you.

**** me first.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

**** NOTHING

**** nothing. Out of 3,400 years
of recorded history, only a
few over 200 have been
deemed peaceful. Wars are
the most heinous acts perpe-
trated by human beings against
other human beings, yet wars
remain the basso continuo of
our collective existence. Over
half of the GNP of the United
Sates is spent on the military
and the myriad weapons we
procure for it to **** other human
beings. This is pure madness.
I **** nothing. I am a conscientious
lover. If a gnat, so small I can
barely see it crawling across my
desk, I will not **** it, because every
living creation in the Cosmos is
sacred. Do not **** to eat. Eat fruits
that come from plants that will keep
on living. Eat vegetables from
plants whose natural lives will
end shortly. We are now killing
Mother Earth:  castastrophic climate
change and nuclear holocaust are
existential threats to all living creations.
One hydrogen bomb is a thousand
times more deadly than were each
of the atomic bombs we dropped on
Hiroshima and Nagasaki, yet there
are thousands of hydrogen bombs
around the world today. And even if
only one were accidentally to explode,
it would be enough to create “nuclear
winter,” which, in turn, would destroy
all life on Earth. **** nothing.

Copyright 2019 Tod Howard Hawks

**** nothing. I know all things that live die,
still **** nothing. All life is sacred, so let all creatures
live their sacred lives until they end naturally.
I saw a gnat once on my desktop. It was so small
I could barely see it, but I did not **** it. I watched
as it slowly--very slowly--made its way from one
end of my desk to the other. I grew to admire the
gnat's tenacity. I grew fond of the gnat. The gnat
became my friend. The next morning, I looked
for the gnat somewhere on my desktop and
finally found it. I called the gnat "Ben." Ben was
now my friend. Ben did its thing while I did my
things. The third day, I looked for Ben again.
I looked and looked and looked, but could not
find Ben. Finally, I stopped looking and began
to use my computer. Toward noon, I lifted a
small stack of papers, and as I did, saw Ben. He
was dead, lying, I could barely see, on his side.
I knew Ben for a little more than two days, but
I was sad. I had lost a friend.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

KISS ME FOREVER

Life is short. I am old.
With whom will I have to share
the days remaining? I am now alone.
I wish for a friend, a woman
who will join me step by step
as we approach
our inexorable destination.
What will it be like,
I writing poems,
she still a beauty,
but not the beauty she was
60 years ago?
Will we dance together?
No, I have been a ******* for 20 years.
Will we laugh together? I know so.
Will I hold her in my arms
as she goes to sleep?
I will hold her in my arms for eternity.
Whose eyes will be the first to close forever?
I hope it will be mine,
for to be without her
would mean I would lose my heart forever,
even as I breathed.
Hold my hand in yours.
Kiss me, my dear. Kiss me forever.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

Kristallnacht in now every day in America.

**** Trump is now America's full blown ******.

Goebbles was ******'s minister of propaganda. Goebbles said if you tell the people a lie big enough and often enough, they will begin to believe it.

The Washington Post has authenticated over 15,000 **** Trump lies in the past 3 1/2 years.

**** Trump's evil, egregious acts of irresponsibility, his gross incompetence, his de facto criminal decisions not to act at all to protect his 350,000,000 fellow citizens from the death-dealing coronavirus is akin to ******'s hatred of Jews and other groups he also detested and killed.

At the end of WW II, there were estimated to be 15,000 death camps across Europe.

Now **** Trump has his own death camps in America: nursing homes, huge meat-packing plants, prisons and jails, VA hospitals, the homeless, the poor, and especially the Blacks.

Among **** Trump's first statements about the pandemic reaching America included that all this was a "Democratic hoax," that there were only 15 cases in America, and by the end of that week, there would be zero, and so on.

And like the vast majority of the German people under ******, way too many Americans are afraid, I think, to speak out against **** Trump who wants to be, and is becoming, America's dictartor.

Those Americans who still remain rabid supporters of **** Trump are at best simply deluded, and what is even worse, those who support **** Trump, but choose to remain silent, wear cowards' clothes.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks.

Ilsa's hair blew like silk in the soft Parisian breeze.
Rick looked 10 years younger driving his sportster
down Champs-Elysees. Arc de Triomphe was in the
distance. Young, radiant, Ilsa was the most beautiful
woman in the world. Every man who ever saw her
instantly fell in love with her, myself included. The
German army was only a day from entering Paris,
but that didn't stop Rick from proposing to Ilsa in
La Belle Aurore as Sam played AS TIME GOES BY.
That Ilsa didn't meet Rick in the pounding rain at
the train station as they had planned to take it to
Marseille on their way to Casablanca foreshadowed
the protracted, brutal war the Nazis had already
begun one conquest after another across Europe.
But ****** was not prescient enough to realize
"...a kiss is just a kiss...." and in his Berlin bunker
first swallowed a cyanide capsule then put the muzzle
of his revolver into his mouth and pulled the trigger,
his only constructive act since becoming Chancellor
in 1933.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

Do you want to be happy? Lead us to love.
Do you want to be rich in spirit? Lead us to love.
Would you rather have harmony than harm?
Lead us to love. Do you wish to banish the bad
and replace it with good? Lead us to love. Would
you wish to cleanse your heart of hatred? Lead
us to love. Do you hunger to hold others whose
skin is a different shade? Lead us to love. Do
sometimes you feel the tinge of empathy, but
never quite enough? Lead us to love. Would
you rather have around your sons and daughters
than send them off to war? Lead us to love.
Do you yearn to forgive others who have done
you wrong? Lead us to love. Would you like to
fall asleep and awaken to a world of peace?
Lead us to love. Lead us to love. Lead us to love.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

I just finished watching the movie LEAN ON ME (1989).

I graduated from Andover often considered the best high school in America. But the school I just watched in the movie is better than Andover. The school is Eastside High School in Paterson, NJ.

Morgan Freeman, who I consider the best actor ever, stars in the movie. If you have never seen the movie, see it now. If you have already seen it, see it again.

The story of the movie is a microcosm of the state of Earth. The new principal of Eastside, Joe Clark, played by Freeman, saves the high school and the lives of all associated with it--students, parents, teachers--through his love and the love he regenerates in all of them.

As I have said before, only love can save Earth, the love of all 8,000,000,000 of us.

Lean on all others.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

I just finished watching the movie LEAN ON ME (1989).

I graduated from Andover often considered the best high school in America. But the school I just watched in the movie is better than Andover. The school is Eastside High School in Paterson, NJ.

Morgan Freeman, who I consider the best actor ever, stars in the movie. If you have never seen the movie, see it now. If you have already seen it, see it again.

The story of the movie is a microcosm of the state of Earth. The new principal of Eastside, Joe Clark, played by Freeman, saves the high school and the lives of all associated with it--students, parents, teachers--through his love and the love he regenerates in all of them.

As I have said before, only love can save Earth, the love of all 8,000,000,000 of us.

Lean on all others.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

LES MISERABLES

Are we all not in the cast of Les Miserables?
A bishop, a thief, a ******* so beautiful she
sells herself to save her child. An obsessed
gendarme so full of rage he does not know it
is he himself whom he is seeking. A loaf of
bread to spread among his family. Twenty
years he spends in hard labor because he
cannot bear to see his child die. I cry. What
is this book about, I shout? Does not everyone
descry that he is she, that all are one? Here,
says the bishop, you forgot to take the other.
It is not silver that changes this man. It is
love. It is always love, the precious mettle
of the heart.

Copyright 2020 Tod Howard Hawks

Let's have a worldwide election for Peace on Earth forever! We're all Citizens of the Earth. Why not let everyone on Earth vote at the same time for the way she or he want the world to be. We already have the technology to do this. Do we collectively want world peace? Do we want to exercise our natural right to determine our own future? How many of you would vote for War--any kind of War, even World War III--that would destroy Earth and all living creation on it? Or would you prefer a world of equality, of kindness, of love? Would you prefer a world of letting everyone do her or his own thing, but do nothing that would cause harm to anyone else? All equals. No class system. No deprivation of food, good housing, great education, total freedom of religion (but no attempts to try to convert others). Citizens of Earth--all 8 billion of us--would be the government of Earth. There would be no president of Earth. Citizens of Earth would send their ideas and submissions to members of the General Assembly (around 200 elected for one five-year term by Citizens of Earth from districts that formerly were nations) who then would form them into proposals to be voted on by Citizens of Earth during the last two weeks of every month. Everyone worldwide would have access to smart phones (with one's own personal ID #). No more nations. No more borders (the world's air and water don't give a **** about them! Nor does the pandemic, with all it variants). We shall come to delight in our differences. We shall come to celebrate the variegated colors of skin, the different cultures, the different customs, languages, foods. No more aggrandizement, no more profiteering, no more money. No more wars, no more killings, no more *** trafficking. No more corruption, no more dictators, no more weapons of any kind. Just love and Peace on Earth forever. It's utterly doable! Think about it. Talk to your family about it. Talk to your friends about it. Talk to strangers on the street about it. It's our world, after all. Let's have an election and create a world in which we all can live without fear. Peace on Earth forever.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

Let the mountain lion eat me.
Let it tear me limb from limb.
It does not wish me malice;
It just doesn't want to die.

Let buzzards hover over me.
Let them salvage what is left.
They mean me no ill will.
They're just trying to survive.

But my fellow man who shoots me,
who doesn't know my name,
and waves his flag of freedom,
but kills those of different-colored skin.

Patriots of different lands
and speak in different tongues
know not that they are brothers,
but think of them as others.

Mankind is a misnomer.
There is no kindness here.
How blind they are as
they drop another bomb.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

All the 8 billion people on Earth--I call them "Citizens of Earth"--are the real government of Earth. Collectively, they should make all worldwide decisions. The technology to allow this to happen we already have:  enough cell phones for a group of 20 or fewer to vote on proposals that they themselves have created. No more despots, no more dictators, no more totalitarian rulers, no more wars, no more killings, just Citizens of Earth who, during the last two weeks of every month, will phone in their individual votes. (Please see and read and share PEACE ON EARTH THROUGH LOVE by googling it). A life of love and loving. Doesn't that sound better than having your father or mother, or your sister or brother, or your daughter or son be killed or maimed for life? Think about it. Then act, speak out, if you are so inclined. It's your home, Earth is.

TOD HOWARD HAWKS

Let the sun shine again.
Let it filter through my mind

and warm away the cold
and melt away the doubts

and burn away the sorrow
and cauterize the sore.

Let it bleach the blackness bright.
Let the sun shine again.

Copyright 2019 Tod Howard Hawks