my book of poetry about September 11th, 2001...and after Available NOW at -click here

Saturday, December 21, 2019

Happy Solstice

Guggenheim Museum, NYC
Ransom notes on my tumultuous thoughts:

The status quo must be challenged. I get frustrated with polls that claim people over 40 are "set in their ways."

The status quo must be challenged, not with war, but with imaginative compromise (NOT a dirty word!) The state of a two party system that has folks digging in their heels in their respective camps is obsolete and self-destructive.

Why can't we take the best of both systems, combine and consolidate them and move forward? I ask this not as a liberal or conservative. Not a member of any association, club, political party, sect, cult, or religion. I ask this as a concerned citizen of the world.

These systems were invented by humans! They can be remade and evolve to meet present and future needs. Studying how this can be done effectively and efficiently must become our collective priority.

We must join hands--left and right, not in hopeful prayer, but in faith that we can do this. Together.

There is no taking arms against this rising sea of troubles. Winning and losing belong on fields of play in sports arenas and at the gambling table. The future is far too important for game playing.

Wishing all Joy and Peace

Mark D. Ransom

Saturday, December 7, 2019


We had to say goodbye to him, he was suffering so.
 It made us cry to have to let him go.
We poured a lot of love on him over the long long years.
Now we remember him
with laughter, song
And tears

This cat has soul. Wisdom. Above all he taught me about unconditional love the way cats only know.
 Back home to the land of his birth, North Carolina.

We had to let him go this week. He was suffering terribly with his IBS. Thank you all who took the time and got to know him. We thank you from the heart where this kitty will reside forever.

Tuesday, October 29, 2019

Remembering E. Katherine Kerr

I am probably not alone in continuing to process the recent passing of our friend and mentor, E. Katherine Kerr. I am still finding her voice, her gentle, yet firm touch regarding work in my memory, in my journals, on the walls of our yoga room...

Dolphins were a big part of her life, and ours too. What follows is one of the electronic recordings I made of her impact on us. This class would have taken place in Manhattan. The play performance referenced was one we did, Jen-Scott and I, and probably the last time we were in class together.

From my on-line journal:

June 7, 2007

Closure.  Jennifer and I both attended E. Katherine Kerr’s class last night.  It turned out to be a much more moving and rewarding experience than I’d first imagined.  At the outset, I did not want to go.  My resistance was palpable.  However, I took the opportunity to do my monologue from the play directly to Jennifer, instead of out to the audience as I had done in performance.  The result was closure for me, I finally got to say this to her and have her respond, have myself respond in a realistic, human way.  At last, I feel at peace and finished...  Jennifer got closure (I hope) as well.  We did the opening scene the way she felt it could have worked.  She expressed her repressed self...for the first time. 

 E.K. was most passionate in her support that we never let anyone under any circumstances take our “presence” away.  She was adamant and as clear as I’ve ever seen her, seated on the very edge of her chair very firmly declaring we must never let someone take our agency.   It was a powerful and extraordinary experience, one I’m so glad to have witnessed.  Katherine also went on to use this instance to highlight the altruism that we learn much more from difficulty and distress than we do with ease. 

EK had the gift, and we were blessed to have received from her the comfort and benefit of her insight.

Monday, October 28, 2019

Mining the Past

This morning I found the text of my old web log. Here is an excerpt:

And after September I finally went back to Yoga.


Taking a Look

 Step into a booth
Slip a dollar in the slot
Curtain opens come on baby
Show me what you’ve got

I’m young and I’m lonely
I can feel the blood in my vein
Got a rock in my hand
Nowhere to hide my shame

Cold sun rising over a pile of ruins
I look at myself and ask
“What am I doin’? ”

Step out of sunlight
Into shade
Take a sip from the cup
Of coffee I made
Lookin’ down the long pipe
Of my father’s gun
Longin’ for simple days
Of being his son
Come to another door
Slip key into lock
Curtain opens come on baby
Show Daddy what you bought

Cold sun rises over a pile of ruins
I take a look at myself
“Hey buddy, how am I doin’?”

If a man lives long enough
He gets to play it all
Spring, Summer Winter
Comes after fall

I think of mother
Get a chill to my bone
It’s true what they say
You can never go home

Cold sun rises over a rubble heap
I take a look at myself

Wednesday, September 11, 2019

Never Forget- Knowingly, Purposefully, Selflessly

It has been 18 years. Personally, I will never forget.

However, what I choose to remember may not be the same for me as others. There are those who choose to remember only what “they” did to us. True, there are things I saw that day I will never be able to “un-see.” Nightmarish images, not from any television or movie. Scenes of death and destruction which are the very cause of PTSD.

Still, those inexplicable tragic memories are not what I choose to dwell on. I will always remember what “WE” did in response. I vow to remember, honor, and praise the victims. People who didn’t know what hit them. People of all backgrounds, occupations, and faiths.

Honor, praise, and remember the heroes who knowingly, purposefully, and selflessly ran into danger. I remember how we were galvanized with a sense of duty, not just New Yorkers, not just fire fighters and police; every one of us.

I remember crowds of people lining West Street waving and cheering all the police and fire vehicles as they moved to and from ground zero. Countless gatherings, fundraisers, programs, and institutions started and invested with the mission of healing. I remember a can-do spirit where everyone had his or her hands out to aid, comfort, rescue, recover, and restore. The most common phrases I remember were “what do you need?” and “how can I help you?” I remember an outpouring of grief and support from the entire planet. How very faraway that unity seems to me now.

From my brief hours on a bucket brigade, to long and weary tedium of overnight shifts in the command center, I became one with people working as part of a solution to mind boggling crisis. I will never forget the dedication, and willful sacrifice made by soldiers. I will never forget the love.

This is my third 9/11 away from New York City. My first was to attend Dad’s funeral in 2008. The past two I have been here, in my new home, yet I realize now that I will always and forever be a New Yorker.

I will never forget the people. Those I am blessed to have met and worked alongside during our darkest hours. I want to thank them for their service. My personal choice on how to combat what “they” tried to do is to make sure I participate with good faith in creating and maintaining the kind of America in which we can all take part.

In brief, I will ever choose to remember the good brought out in each of us during a time of great adversity. Remember the steady leadership of those who would not let hate define us, who would not allow division to usurp our humanity.

Sunday, May 12, 2019


Mom took us to the circus
To see the lions and the clowns
Elephants and aerialists
Cotton candy and paper crowns

She made for us
Unforgettable memories
Of joy and laughter and love
And I believe she smiles now
As she loves us from above

The Christmas Trees and Easter Baskets, 
Thanksgiving feasts and more,
just some of what my mother brought 
with courage to my core

Dear mommy, dear mother
Thank you for giving us your all
Your love for us has fed our souls
Spring, Summer, Winter, Fall

MDR 2019

Thursday, March 28, 2019

Facebook Announces New Policy to Ban White Nationalist Content - NY Times

13 Days and counting where I have not looked a my News Feed. Full disclosure, I have looked at Messenger and linked my last post via FB, but I have not looked at the targeted advertising in almost two weeks. And SURPRISE!

Life goes on.

Yesterday the media giant announced that they would no longer carry White Nationalist Content on their site. I have no illusions that my little protest had any impact, but never the less,  I am going the full 17 days without Facebook . One for each minute they live streamed murder. But, I think they still miss the point.

Is Hate Speech Free Speech?

If not, then why not ban all hate speech, and be extremely vigilant about what live streams? Which in turn could create jobs all over the world. Take a firm stand against all forms of intolerance and hate.

I am just one person, yet certain that many more people are outraged over Facebook's lack of over-site when it comes to violently disturbing content. I don't care what people believe or what god they pray to, but I insist on non-violence.

Sunday, March 24, 2019


My challenge to myself to boycott Facebook for live streaming 17 minuets of murder enters double digit days. This is not to say I have totally abandoned my friends there. I have used messenger to communicate, and received e-mail notifications for some of your posts.

But I have not "scrolled" my news feed for nine days. More importantly, I have not been looking at the targeted advertising. It is a small gesture, I know. However, I feel it important to take some kind of stand.

In a world where we all can take more control of our entertainment programming then ever before, we seem increasingly dependent on one source of information. Divide and Conquer is still a very real threat, and we have been severely divided in this nation.  I personally am experiencing a Red Neck Elitism in my part of the country. The "If you are not with us, you are against us, my way or the highway" set if you will.

If we keep being steered to the extreme right, or the extreme left, all we do is go round in circles.

We need now, more than ever, a more direct path to the future. One that does not treat the very real problems of our society like clay pigeons to be shot down for sport by people who would like to destroy our government.

Sunday, March 17, 2019

MARCH 17, 1954

Welcome to day 2 of my 17 day challenge to myself. I will forego Facebook and all its trappings until the cruel month of April.

Today I celebrate the life of a man I never met, yet without whom I would not be. My grandfather, Stewart Ransom, passed this day in 1954 while watching the parade on TV.

Since then, St. Patrick's Day has always been a, let us say sedate, if not somber occasion for our family. Which is very out of character for us. (We like to party.) But I have never had the green beer, nor passed out drunk at any of the festivities.

When we were very young, my kid sister and I, were taken to the big parade down Fifth Avenue by our neighbor. We sat on the curb as so many marchers went by I thought the ground moved and the people stood marching in place. I caught a good glimpse of Mayor Lindsey, and an even briefer glimpse of Bobby Kennedy, for he was surrounded by photographers.

How did I know it was Bobby Kennedy? Mrs. Agnes Butts, our neighbor who had taken us to the parade, leaned out against the blue and white police barricade and shouted,


She talked about it all the way back to Mariners Harbor.

I do like to hear from my relations who tell me stories about "Pop". He was gone before I came along and I often wonder how different my life might be if he had the opportunity to influence me.

That is part of the mystery to life I indulge in these days, now that the pressure to be perfect at work is part and parcel of my retirement.

God Bless, and Keep you, Pop. Say hi to mom, and dad, and all the aunts and uncles.

(from L to R) Uncle Stew, Pop, and Daddy)

Saturday, March 16, 2019


On March 15th, 2019, Facebook unwittingly broadcast a murderer rampage through Christchurch, New Zealand for 17 minuets.

This is unacceptable.

So, for 17 days I will not look at their page, nor see their targeted advertising, nor promote in any way the use of that irresponsible medium.

Thank you to those who have found this page. Please comment. I will be posting here more regularly.

Thursday, March 7, 2019

The Last Commute

From where it all began, Staten Island, I drove into work the morning of Monday, February 25, 2019.
The flood of thought and emotion has yet to subside. Later in the week my family and friends would gather for a festive evening. But not before I attended mass for a fallen hero.  A heartbreaking loss.

What follows here are a few snapshots and musings from my last week on the best job I ever had: serving the people of the City of New York. Along with a tribute to not only a great inspector, but also an amazing man.

SIE at sunrise

Damon start of last tour.

“I am, I said. But no one cared. “
Neil Diamond.

Not just leaving a job, but leaving. Leaving New York. A place of supreme pain and ultimate pleasure. The portal of possibility. Emerald City. My family. My home.

New York gets into your blood. Under your skin, it can torture and delight you all at once. Drive you insane with pleasure. Enrage you with envy. Misshape you with avarice.

NYC. The ultimate amphetamine. Adrenaline rushes that last for weeks. Months. Years.

NYC. Powerfully seductive. A barbiturate. Hallucinogenic opiate. Her old bones and new glass. Her power to create and to destroy the very molecules of dreams.

A place of unlimited and towering success. The nadir of failure. Heights reaching for the stars. Depths unfathomable to the gentle and naive. Love more powerful than time. Hate malignant and terrible.

For every action, equal and opposite ... lawless justice. Unkind civility. Camaraderie.


Always Greed driving mad drivers forward faster and faster until, one day, their wheels come off. And the only way to insulate yourself from the excruciating pain is to surround yourself with people. Family. Friends. Strangers. And things. Work. Play. Houses. Boats. Cars. Clothes. Art. Jewelry. Or...

Booze. Drugs. Sex. All the addictive forces of nature and chemistry, (Yeah, chemistry. ) conspire to console a challenged mind, a broken heart, a despairing soul.

And in the end...yes. The love you make...but also, in the end...

   ... there is no end. 

Though we all come and go, The City remains.

“I am a rock, I am an Island.”
Paul Simon

The current Emergency Operations Center for DOB

Thomas Zurica and Jen-Scott Mobley

And amid my exit I am reminded of  life's real value. We lost Tommy Zurica. 59 years way too young, as he succumbed to his two year battle with brain cancer a week before my retirement. He coached me to the end on how to go about submitting my papers. These photos are from 2013 after receiving the Commissioners Award for Team Excellence. Tommy Z was the best of the best.

TZ and me.

(from L to R) Willie Blake, Damon, Lenny, and Tommy

(from L to R) Scoffield Smith, Damon Boccadoro, me, and Tommy.

Wednesday, February 20, 2019

SOMETIMES - a poem...


The hurt of my whole life
comes upon me unawares.
A certain song or a fragrance
on the late winter, early spring air

And like a zephyr
it envelops me.
This feeling of loss,
and grief,
 and love, and


and peace.

All at once.


But always  a woman 's voice singing.
And always woman's perfume.