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These books are part of me. They are my life and what I make of it. From political to fictional, or historical to waxing poetic, they all are influenced by how I seen the world, how it sees me, and how I think I can best present my renderings of it. I sincerely hope you enjoy them, pour over them, and locate that part of a book that will elicit meaningful conversation.

Vote for America: A Common Guide to Electorates

ASIN: B08H17V2K7

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America. The inherent value in a name should remain undisputed, like a title, a reputation for fair play, for an equitable outcome of political games, the contests which are said to provide each man with one vote. In truth, a union, republic or even constitutional democracy, can only hope to live up to its aspirations. Engraved in stone, a metaphor inscribed on a capriciously conceived parchment, beckons the founding concession of “one man, one vote.” America. With its purple mountain's majesty, with its spacious skies above fruited plains, a melting potted tapestry of cultural permissiveness, avails itself, promotes and sells itself as a land were anything is possible. It is a land of plenty. It is solicited to the world as the “land of opportunity” where a man's reach should exceed his grasp. However, that reach is subject to be cut, suspended in its effort to even finger a grasp. After the black vote was first won, more fighting was required to make those votes, that right to have a voice in government, even greatly muffled and strained, practical in a limited democracy. For freed (13th amendment) black citizens (14th amendment) the right to vote came after the Civil War, during Reconstruction. That came after the fifteenth amendment, during Jim Crow. The right to exercise the right to vote remained in question, hanged like the noose, a right for which they bled. The constitutional right to vote was kept well out of reach by Southern Democrats. In 1965 black and white men and women crossed Edmund Pettus Bridge en route to Montgomery. In one of the most violent acts of early systemic racism caught on camera, Alabama state troopers brutalized peaceful protesters as they sought their constitutional right to vote. That march ended at the capitol, it ended with president Johnson signing a voting rights act to fortify the Civil Rights Act signed the year before, which nurtured a right to vote afforded black men in 1870's fifteenth amendment.

Read about the often harsh, even cruel, realities of how those votes were hard won. Weigh for yourself the present value of voting in a democracy. Make a value judgement of how incremental apathy, disinterest, or what is too often taken for granted has brought America to its current state. The electoral process in America is nature and nurture. It manifests waves, creating stages, the foundations of which were knowingly or unknowingly, fortuitously or unfortunately rigged to favor the initial voters, white males of some wealth over age 21. That is how it began, how the rules were written, by them, and such is the nature of voting and election for America. That “democratic” system has been nurtured through time to include, to extend a fair shake, to all the minority groups excluded. Blacks in 1870, 1964, 1965, and on into infinity. Women in 1920. Native Americans in 1924. Chinese-Americans in 1943 and all the exclusions in between.

God almighty, Democracy needs nurturing. Democracy needs itself to be, an existential presumption that at the ballot box in 2020 can wax Hamlet in soliloquy. Contemporary Republicans provide reason for Democrats to perpetually protest, to legislate, to orate, to orchestrate fair and free elections, to endlessly polish the easily muted “one man, one vote.” Donald Trump would like a second term, possibly only to avoid being a civilian open to prosecution. Here is a man who brought nothing to the office but chaos who now is pandering for votes as only a tired huckster can. He has sunk to an unprecedented level of pathetic GOP posturing, using a pandemic to prevent voting. In America we are able to vote. So I emphatically implore you to vote. Your life, democracy's life (or many peoples' lives) depends on it.

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Ten Years and Change: A Liberal Boyhood in Minnesota
ASIN: B072BVRNKW
 

As one who grew up in the critical years of the Vietnam War, I hold deep memories of the political atmosphere of the time. The period was riddled with opportunities for growth and change. The country convulsed repeatedly, spewing out a prototype for democracy each time. Amid the assassinations, riots, and withdrawals, one group challenged the hawkish path the Johnson-Humphrey administration chose to follow. What the McCarthy Democrats did was quixotically rare in politics. It was brash and exemplified how a minority beginning at the local government, working within the political structure, can ultimately affect the course of the federal government. I watched the DFL (Democratic Farmer-Labor) Party dissent from within to support Senator Eugene McCarthy as an anti-war candidate. I saw the political process run its course from local to national levels.

Most suburban kids who grew up in the’70s were not immersed in politics. Parents of friends on my block did not particularly care about taking an active role in ending the war, much less gender and racial equality. I grew up around the mentality that saw injustices existing in the world more sharply than others did. From watching the Apollo 11 moon landing in the backroom of a general store to opening our house to a DFL fundraiser featuring Gene McCarthy reading his poetry, I was witness to many key and rare moments in the Vietnam era.

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Agents of Orange
ISBN-13: 978-1643140308
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Biology seeps silently into life. Holes left void and dead proliferate like wars and scar tissue. In 1997 my own biological father was killed by a car, cementing the chance of ever knowing him null. I guess he was in the back of my mind when I sat down to dedicate the book.

One day in 2012 I was thinking of the line from Apocalypse Now “I love the smell of napalm in the morning.” I love words and the impulse to play they invite and I began to noodle with the legendary phrase. I came up with “I love the smell of swaying palms in the morning.” The location of my book fell into place. The idea of Lizzy and the SLA—a left-wing group whose exploits still echoes from radios from my youth—showing up on this marine’s steps made for an intriguing recipe. Chauncy sought solace after the war, gradually assimilating into civilian life. As such, he chooses a retirement community, a real place where my grandparents lived and I visited in the early ’70s—a pivotal time in America, if not this book. Lizzy knows she’s a hunted fugitive and seeks anonymity as well.

Agents of Orange is relative to self-discovery, to meeting the demands of life that occur naturally or a unconsciously intended. Throughout the course of the book, each character arranges events in his or her life, making it compatible for their chosen destiny. The title was never intended to be titular. It has nothing to do with the injurious chemical used in Vietnam. Chauncy McClarren is a gentleman. He diplomatically arranges things in his life, from boarding a plane to Vietnam rather than Canada to honoring his friendship with Harrold Coffman, his former Sergeant and constant drain on his life.

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When Monkeys feel Rhythms

ASIN: B079489MY8

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Theories of relativity exist somewhere in the lexicon. Poetry proliferates, its words persevere the mind and leave formations scattered behind. A cannon of work compiled from 2013-14 beckoned to serve a purpose. The idea was to link common areas— disciplines of life—in one book. Spatial relationships, how we relate to friendship, aging, marriage, politics, religion, and technology co-exist in one book of sixty poems.

When Monkey feel Rhythms holds everyone’s key to the universe somewhere. The job of the reader— the poetic diplomat—to find their forte in the disciplines I’ve chosen as a life study. One of my favorite comments on technology and where we’re headed comes in the verse of a poem:

“Human thought—archaic concepts

That can’t even compete with them—

The brains went away when 8-track

Tapes were pulled from the bins to be

Replaced with the shiny discs that

Wouldn’t click to the next track;

Digitally burned— infinitely

Faultless with subliminal sounds….”

 

I have fun at the expense of time-honored concepts and traditions. In categorizing friendship I interject musical quality and imagery to the transition of a drinking establishment:

 

“We’d sling guns from hips and shoot

Those who drank on sight;

Spurs would spin—they’d jingle my walk

To swagger in

And push swinging doors to meet

Their hinges’ greed—

Fanning stale popcorn’s smell that

Fought beer to exceed…”

 

Rhythms swings from echelons of lexicons like monkeys and ape men swung from vines. The poems tone from humorous, to tender, to sarcastic contempt.

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Scenes the Writer Shows: Forty-one Places a Poem can Go
ISBN-13: 978-1466987661
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I thought I had a voice as a poet. I’d filled notebooks in college with poems that were embryonic. I matured and regained my fetal position in dimly lit rooms and corner bar stools. I wrote my best…I wrote my best…I wrote my heart and left a tip to be squandered less. Poems I collected from 2011-12 were honest. They were confessional poems regarding work, relationships, travel, and my experience of being disabled. Scenes the Writer Shows {forty-one places a poem can go} looks on a life of victories and upsets.

In late 2012, the year I left my career in medical records, I sat down to put this offering together. Forty-one was a random number of no significance. The title plays with the prosaic catch-phrase “show don’t tell.” As my foray into collected poetry, what I researched and gathered from fellow poets was that a book should have a loose central theme. To that end, the poems in Scenes all convey a geographical or personal location. Its pages are steeped in terrain and emotion. Poems read in anger or wonderment. They lie in sand or tall grass hiding sarcasm or casting conundrums. I was the urban poet at times, observing the rich tapestry of the “drug free” zones of Minneapolis’s Stevens Community poverty.

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Finding me and Them: Stories of Assimilation

ASIN: B07965S1CS

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These stories are autobiographical. Each has a direct or indirect relevance to my life. They are based on incidents, growth, trials, or concessions I've made in a life (of mine) or any random person. With some entirely, loosely based on fictional characters acting as people I've known, Finding me-and Them offers a wide range of intertwining genres

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Poems from Captain Salty's

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ASIN: B0792LS9PQ

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Poems from Captain Salty’s uses metaphors, rhyme schemes, and word-play to mask a deeper meaning. A few are overt, and comment on issues the world needs to or has made great strides to amend. Allegories, parodies, and miscalculated tapestries imbue Salty’s pages with realism. Its poems are rarely fantastical and tend to comment on legends or crumbles from the mythical properties of history.

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My narrative poetry comes to light in this book. I frequently depart from the metrical and lyrical sound boards that were cells to me so long. It is truly a departure for me. There are both obvious and subtle double entendres. The poems are bold and stir the pots of diversity; they call kettles black and skim lines of perversity—just enough to simmer. They stew issues as varied as racism and women’s strides toward equality. Salty’s poems ponder isolation and disparity, how society has come together and how it has just as easily grown apart. His poems often confess how individuals meet briefly to compare notes from the heart.

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This is a collection of fifty poems. Many comment on life, love, and societal subjects. The tamer ones that lack elements of eroticism often look at how individuals, for better or worse, interact with each other. My book is thematic in the sense that the metaphor—the captain—stands on his two pegged legs for the worn, retired, salts of the earth. Poems from Captain Saly’s undiscovered treasure chests tease bawdy impulses. Some of the poems parody erotic poetry and prose and how such writing flows in trends of popularity. These poems, dispersed coyly amongst the deeper, more cerebral pieces, pull gently at that thread in humanity that wants to look. My book surmises that there is a voyeur in all of us.

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The Orthodoxy of Arrogance

ASIN: B0792MK23Z

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The Orthodoxy of Arrogance is a fictional account of historical events and the subsequent personal and familial conflicts they can create.  The main character, Mordichai Lebenschitz, is a moyl from Dachau, Germany.  As the Nazi regime rises, he changes his name to the more German Moritz. He is pompous, self-centered, and oblivious to the world and its proposed effects on him.  He is charming, manipulative and self-indulgent.  He and his wife Hannah elude the Nazis from 1941-1944 in the city of Dachau.

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My novel suggests possible scenarios of events in history.  It weaves them with personal, familial, and societal conflicts they affect.  It borders on the least likely outcomes of historical events.  They are often endured by arrogant and self-indulgent attitudes.   The Orthodoxy of Arrogance is the story of sheer will.  It is a fictional account of one believing in oneself to the point of selfishness.  It is the conflict of ego and how it can work to disrupt human emotions.

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Would God Move a Ping-pong Table: A Cumulative Analysis of Faith & Religion

ISBN-1-893846-65-2

 

After the horrific, religiously inclined, events of September 11, 2001 I could no longer hold my pen. I felt it was high time to weigh two interchangeable concepts that have, while sustaining millions through the darkest periods of history, have also been callously used for centuries to justify the worst human behavior. I analyze the murders, fraud, and scandals that transpired under the unimpeachable cloak of religion, I contrast that with the positive outcomes faith and prayer have ascertained in some of the most dire times a human being can know

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