Sunday, July 31, 2005
Poem
My Life
With blurred vision,
at breakneck speed,
I, careening through
barriers called years,
will rest only beneath,
Finally, my name in stone
My Life
With blurred vision,
at breakneck speed,
I, careening through
barriers called years,
will rest only beneath,
Finally, my name in stone
Poem
Truth
Those who have spoken it
are twisted in the earth,
silent, dumb to our world,
below the roar of ignorance,
blind to colorful absurdity,
and dead.
Truth
Those who have spoken it
are twisted in the earth,
silent, dumb to our world,
below the roar of ignorance,
blind to colorful absurdity,
and dead.
Not a Poem
Some Days
There are some sad songs
I have raised my voice to sing,
the melody, that old tune
of being misunderstood
or worse, being understood.
There are some stories
that I have read,
that tell that tale I often read,
of being alone...
no worse than to be alone.
There are some days
which I have viewed
when all Creation imparts her parables
of sadness, aloneness,
when nature turns cold and becomes detached...
When I am part of nothing.
But such a small price I pay
for such epic beauty!
A price as small as my contribution
to everything around me.
Some days, I've felt lucky
to catch my own breath.
Some Days
There are some sad songs
I have raised my voice to sing,
the melody, that old tune
of being misunderstood
or worse, being understood.
There are some stories
that I have read,
that tell that tale I often read,
of being alone...
no worse than to be alone.
There are some days
which I have viewed
when all Creation imparts her parables
of sadness, aloneness,
when nature turns cold and becomes detached...
When I am part of nothing.
But such a small price I pay
for such epic beauty!
A price as small as my contribution
to everything around me.
Some days, I've felt lucky
to catch my own breath.
Poem
Do you Remember
Do you remember?
The late night, the black forest,
the smell of whisky breath?
I remember the humidity,
the crunch of dead leaves
and the smooth cool of the mud.
They were whispering, telling us the secret,
that you had to feel the lifeblood run out
and the body go cold do you remember?
We held our guns to our sides,
then heard the mad rustling of brush
and watched flashes of black fur
streaking through the brown of trees.
When we fired, feeling the 12-gage kicks,
our guns thumping our chests,
I felt my heartbeat in my groin.
And when the hunt was done,
they left us in the woods.
To fend for ourselves,
us and the animals we'd killed
Do you remember?
Do you Remember
Do you remember?
The late night, the black forest,
the smell of whisky breath?
I remember the humidity,
the crunch of dead leaves
and the smooth cool of the mud.
They were whispering, telling us the secret,
that you had to feel the lifeblood run out
and the body go cold do you remember?
We held our guns to our sides,
then heard the mad rustling of brush
and watched flashes of black fur
streaking through the brown of trees.
When we fired, feeling the 12-gage kicks,
our guns thumping our chests,
I felt my heartbeat in my groin.
And when the hunt was done,
they left us in the woods.
To fend for ourselves,
us and the animals we'd killed
Do you remember?
Poem
A Colorful Lesson
O Black, stealing Light,
reflecting nothing,
storing heat, shade of night,
I long to be so efficient!
As water, black ice,
you, slippery as time
more than suffice,
and turn worst disaster
into something sublime.
Or evening, black night,
you turn day into dream,
send anxiety to flight,
blot trouble in sleep
and cover all unseen.
You, the selfish hue,
opposite of white
scoff what other colors do,
and they all flow into you,
as you swallow them in spite!
A Colorful Lesson
O Black, stealing Light,
reflecting nothing,
storing heat, shade of night,
I long to be so efficient!
As water, black ice,
you, slippery as time
more than suffice,
and turn worst disaster
into something sublime.
Or evening, black night,
you turn day into dream,
send anxiety to flight,
blot trouble in sleep
and cover all unseen.
You, the selfish hue,
opposite of white
scoff what other colors do,
and they all flow into you,
as you swallow them in spite!
Poem
On the Esplanade
They were a small part
contained in my view
or the river,
There were two men
old and sagely
quiet but speaking between themselves.
The one's hair,
long and wispy
flowed like the water
to which he pointed
with crooked finger.
His hand trembled,
perhaps as his voice.
'Hands were his tools,
had probably built
the grand sturdy house
in which he lived'
thought I.
The other, as gentle
as the former, his friend,
seemed equally dressed
in the wisdom of age.
His correct clothing
rebuffed the wind
and kept him comfortable
and perfect in weather.
They left nothing behind
when they left their bench
but my heart lept to witness
their strong gamely stride.
'Once collected
to your warm
friendly homes,
Dream of lost youth
now present,
thought I.
On the Esplanade
They were a small part
contained in my view
or the river,
There were two men
old and sagely
quiet but speaking between themselves.
The one's hair,
long and wispy
flowed like the water
to which he pointed
with crooked finger.
His hand trembled,
perhaps as his voice.
'Hands were his tools,
had probably built
the grand sturdy house
in which he lived'
thought I.
The other, as gentle
as the former, his friend,
seemed equally dressed
in the wisdom of age.
His correct clothing
rebuffed the wind
and kept him comfortable
and perfect in weather.
They left nothing behind
when they left their bench
but my heart lept to witness
their strong gamely stride.
'Once collected
to your warm
friendly homes,
Dream of lost youth
now present,
thought I.
It was a hot summer night.
The lightning bugs had come out for the first time, so the heat was there to stay. The air was humid.
We lived on Carl Avenue, Carl being my dad's name though the street was not named after him. My sister Robin and I had walked down our Carl street to the main road, New Harmony Way, and walked several blocks to Beth's house.
I was around eight years old, Robin around eleven years old.
When we arrived, the sun had just gone down. Kids from all over the neighborhood were there. Freddy, Gunner and Charlotte and Beth were there.
There was a large elm tree in Beth's front yard and there were kids dangling from various limbs, swinging back and forth, singing and calling back and forth to each other. There were no parents to be seen, so the kids had the run of the place.
From out of the crowd, there she came, walking toward us, wearing a cut off cotton tee shirt that showed her belly button, a pair of cut off shorts, and leather sandals with rings that looped around her big toes. Her hair was long and straight and brown. Her eyes were green and glinted in the light of the now burning street lamp. She was a foot taller than me and was very athletic in build. Her arms and legs were sinewy and she had definitive bicep muscles. Light beads of sweat rolled down her chest, accelerating beneath her damp tee with each breath she took.
It was Beth, and I was undeniably in love with her.
The kids had decided to play freeze tag before we got there, and were now assembling beneath the tree to start the game. Beth yelled at Robin and I to 'come on'! She turned on her heels and ran toward the tree. As she ran, I noticed her hind quarters were just as muscular as her biceps.
The three of us trotted along with Beth in the lead to gather with Freddy, Gunner, Charlotte, and the rest of the kids.
There must have been twenty of us as we all decided who would be 'it' first. I stood next to Beth, thinking about how even her armpit looked cute as she raised her hand to volunteer to go first. Charlotte was standing behind me, Freddy and Gunner were a few kids away, but Robin was nowhere to be found.
Soon enough we were all running around the big yard willy-nilly frantically freezing and unfreezing each other. I ran in and out of the kids, breathing in the warm musky air, getting mosquito bitten and having a ball. I ran past Beth. I ran past Charlotte. I ran past Freddy and Gunner. I unfroze that kid in my class who always smelled of farts. Still, no Robin. Had she walked home alone?
We played freeze tag. We played kick the can. The can was underneath the street lamp in the street. We climbed the tall elm tree and jumped from various heights.
One by one, two by two, kids began to leave. Suddenly Robin appeared out of nowhere and said it was time to go. I wanted to see Beth one more time, but she seemed to have already gone into her house. Charlotte came up to me and punched my arm. 'Bye, Kevin' she said as she shyly looked at her shoes.
Charlotte had coal black hair cut into a boyish bob. A hairstyle that would not be popular until much later in my years. She had brown eyes, stood my height and was skinny. Her sweaty bangs were flattened against her forehead. Her skin was white as moonlight.
On the way home, Robin was in an excellent mood. 'Where were you'? I asked. 'I was with Chris' came the reply.
Chris Christianson. Robins secret steady boyfriend. He was such an all american, although I didn't realize this at the time. I just thought Chris Christianson was a big nerd. I thought of the two of them making out behind the house all night and the thought of it slightly turned my stomach.
'Did you know that Charlotte likes you'? Robin asked as we were walking our last block to the house.
Charlotte.
Skinny, pale Charlotte.
I couldn't have cared less.
'Yeah. She really likes you a lot. She wants to go with you'.
Charlotte of the pasted bangs, the boyish bob that was not in style yet, Charlotte of the skinny legs and the dusty Keds shoes.
Charlotte.
The anti-Beth.
'What about Beth'? I asked. 'Has Beth ever said anything'? We were now walking down our street off New Harmony and were approaching our house.
'No, Beth has never said anything'. And of course she hadn't. Beth probably had as many boyfriends as I had fingers.
In bed that night with the window fan blowing and the crickets chirping, I didn't give Charlotte another thought. All I could think of was Beth and how cool it would be to hold her sweaty, sinewy body and kiss her deeply and for a long time.
That was as far as I ever got with Beth.
The lightning bugs had come out for the first time, so the heat was there to stay. The air was humid.
We lived on Carl Avenue, Carl being my dad's name though the street was not named after him. My sister Robin and I had walked down our Carl street to the main road, New Harmony Way, and walked several blocks to Beth's house.
I was around eight years old, Robin around eleven years old.
When we arrived, the sun had just gone down. Kids from all over the neighborhood were there. Freddy, Gunner and Charlotte and Beth were there.
There was a large elm tree in Beth's front yard and there were kids dangling from various limbs, swinging back and forth, singing and calling back and forth to each other. There were no parents to be seen, so the kids had the run of the place.
From out of the crowd, there she came, walking toward us, wearing a cut off cotton tee shirt that showed her belly button, a pair of cut off shorts, and leather sandals with rings that looped around her big toes. Her hair was long and straight and brown. Her eyes were green and glinted in the light of the now burning street lamp. She was a foot taller than me and was very athletic in build. Her arms and legs were sinewy and she had definitive bicep muscles. Light beads of sweat rolled down her chest, accelerating beneath her damp tee with each breath she took.
It was Beth, and I was undeniably in love with her.
The kids had decided to play freeze tag before we got there, and were now assembling beneath the tree to start the game. Beth yelled at Robin and I to 'come on'! She turned on her heels and ran toward the tree. As she ran, I noticed her hind quarters were just as muscular as her biceps.
The three of us trotted along with Beth in the lead to gather with Freddy, Gunner, Charlotte, and the rest of the kids.
There must have been twenty of us as we all decided who would be 'it' first. I stood next to Beth, thinking about how even her armpit looked cute as she raised her hand to volunteer to go first. Charlotte was standing behind me, Freddy and Gunner were a few kids away, but Robin was nowhere to be found.
Soon enough we were all running around the big yard willy-nilly frantically freezing and unfreezing each other. I ran in and out of the kids, breathing in the warm musky air, getting mosquito bitten and having a ball. I ran past Beth. I ran past Charlotte. I ran past Freddy and Gunner. I unfroze that kid in my class who always smelled of farts. Still, no Robin. Had she walked home alone?
We played freeze tag. We played kick the can. The can was underneath the street lamp in the street. We climbed the tall elm tree and jumped from various heights.
One by one, two by two, kids began to leave. Suddenly Robin appeared out of nowhere and said it was time to go. I wanted to see Beth one more time, but she seemed to have already gone into her house. Charlotte came up to me and punched my arm. 'Bye, Kevin' she said as she shyly looked at her shoes.
Charlotte had coal black hair cut into a boyish bob. A hairstyle that would not be popular until much later in my years. She had brown eyes, stood my height and was skinny. Her sweaty bangs were flattened against her forehead. Her skin was white as moonlight.
On the way home, Robin was in an excellent mood. 'Where were you'? I asked. 'I was with Chris' came the reply.
Chris Christianson. Robins secret steady boyfriend. He was such an all american, although I didn't realize this at the time. I just thought Chris Christianson was a big nerd. I thought of the two of them making out behind the house all night and the thought of it slightly turned my stomach.
'Did you know that Charlotte likes you'? Robin asked as we were walking our last block to the house.
Charlotte.
Skinny, pale Charlotte.
I couldn't have cared less.
'Yeah. She really likes you a lot. She wants to go with you'.
Charlotte of the pasted bangs, the boyish bob that was not in style yet, Charlotte of the skinny legs and the dusty Keds shoes.
Charlotte.
The anti-Beth.
'What about Beth'? I asked. 'Has Beth ever said anything'? We were now walking down our street off New Harmony and were approaching our house.
'No, Beth has never said anything'. And of course she hadn't. Beth probably had as many boyfriends as I had fingers.
In bed that night with the window fan blowing and the crickets chirping, I didn't give Charlotte another thought. All I could think of was Beth and how cool it would be to hold her sweaty, sinewy body and kiss her deeply and for a long time.
That was as far as I ever got with Beth.
Friday, July 29, 2005
Hello, I am quite new at this but am going to start with a journal entry I wrote concerning religion, and more specifically, it's influence in my life.
Here goes...
True Religion.
Ask Yourself. Does it make you a better person?
Christianity does this for me. It makes me the best human being I think I can be. The reason I am a humanist: We contain a divine element that cannot be measured. Can our religious feelings be expressed in the square footage of our cathedrals? Can it be further expressed in the length, mass, charge and time of the wood, the steel, that supports our church walls, and in the compressive strength of the concrete that supports us as worshippers? Can our spirituality be measured by the height of our steeples, the size of our temple parking lots, the width of our church doors? Who has measured the hydrostatic power of our baptistries, the static equilibrium of our choir risers, the atmospheric pressure of sacred air against sacred walls?
The architect may design our holy buildings, but not to this degree, surely. And no engineer goes back to a house of worship he has designed and measures these quantities 'as they were built' as opposed to 'as they were designed'. For necessity requires it's presence in the undertaking of any human enterprise and adds her own secret dimensions to the best laid plans. And the creativity of a carpenter to make a cornice piece 'just so' adds unforseen qualitiies to a rigourously calculated architecture. The 'true' angularity of our sacred geometry simply cannot be calculated in 'real' degrees. The departure from straightness and curvature will not be discovered with our inaccurate tools.
Just as a church is designed and built, I believe that we live and breathe much the same. The Creator 'knew' us in his mind, stitched us in our womb, formed us from earth, air, fire and water, which means that nature by necessity added her own secret dimensions to our selves.
Due to this 'surprise' nature, I believe we surprise our Creator with the manifestation of our departure from His 'true' angularity and curvature which He implanted in our beings. Who among us has not laughed when we should cry? Or cried when we should hurt? Or hurt when we should rejoice? God is surprised, as we are, at our sudden, deep pleasure when our face is caressed by a light rainfall in a cool summer breeze. Sometimes we turn left when we should have turned right, and the unexpected inertia takes hold in the Creator as it takes hold in us. Imagine how thrilling it is for God when our first kiss produces a reaction in us that even the angels have never felt? For the active ingredient in ourselves is the divine breath that God imparted to us in the watery womb. He breathed enough in us to give us our soul, which is amazingly like His.
Enough for now
Here goes...
True Religion.
Ask Yourself. Does it make you a better person?
Christianity does this for me. It makes me the best human being I think I can be. The reason I am a humanist: We contain a divine element that cannot be measured. Can our religious feelings be expressed in the square footage of our cathedrals? Can it be further expressed in the length, mass, charge and time of the wood, the steel, that supports our church walls, and in the compressive strength of the concrete that supports us as worshippers? Can our spirituality be measured by the height of our steeples, the size of our temple parking lots, the width of our church doors? Who has measured the hydrostatic power of our baptistries, the static equilibrium of our choir risers, the atmospheric pressure of sacred air against sacred walls?
The architect may design our holy buildings, but not to this degree, surely. And no engineer goes back to a house of worship he has designed and measures these quantities 'as they were built' as opposed to 'as they were designed'. For necessity requires it's presence in the undertaking of any human enterprise and adds her own secret dimensions to the best laid plans. And the creativity of a carpenter to make a cornice piece 'just so' adds unforseen qualitiies to a rigourously calculated architecture. The 'true' angularity of our sacred geometry simply cannot be calculated in 'real' degrees. The departure from straightness and curvature will not be discovered with our inaccurate tools.
Just as a church is designed and built, I believe that we live and breathe much the same. The Creator 'knew' us in his mind, stitched us in our womb, formed us from earth, air, fire and water, which means that nature by necessity added her own secret dimensions to our selves.
Due to this 'surprise' nature, I believe we surprise our Creator with the manifestation of our departure from His 'true' angularity and curvature which He implanted in our beings. Who among us has not laughed when we should cry? Or cried when we should hurt? Or hurt when we should rejoice? God is surprised, as we are, at our sudden, deep pleasure when our face is caressed by a light rainfall in a cool summer breeze. Sometimes we turn left when we should have turned right, and the unexpected inertia takes hold in the Creator as it takes hold in us. Imagine how thrilling it is for God when our first kiss produces a reaction in us that even the angels have never felt? For the active ingredient in ourselves is the divine breath that God imparted to us in the watery womb. He breathed enough in us to give us our soul, which is amazingly like His.
Enough for now
