The flower's bloom is frosted white,
The sky now cloaked with gray,
Frigid air came with the night,
And stayed on through the day.
Warmth has paused to take a rest,
Giving winter one last fling,
Putting people to the test,
Before the summer conquers spring.
The Lord has a sick sense of humor… I have a long established dislike of scouting (that’s probably too mild of a word, but I’m trying to be positive), and have recently been caught expressing my feeling that the only calling in the ward I would like less than being Bishop would be as the Scout Master. About six months ago, while I was passing through Amarillo on my way back to DC after an unplanned and very short return to New Mexico, I got a call from the stake Executive Secretary asking if there was any way I could … Read the rest
WORDS AS FALSE LABELS FOR EXISTENCE
TUMBLING JUMBLED SLOW-COOKER STYLE
TASTE ONE AND SEE
TENTACLED SALTY AND SWEET
PLAY WITH THEM, SWALLOW THEM,
SPIT THEM BACK OUT
FISH 'TILL THE PERFECT WORD IS CAUGHT
LEGITIMIZING AND MANACLING LIFE
OUT OF EXISTENCE
Grandpa is an awesome guy
To all us little tykes.
Gives us candies, soda too
And all the treats we like.
But momma on the other hand
Seems to disagree.
Darting angry glances when
He gives that stuff to me.
Cannot stop and fingers fly,
Mind is spinning round,
Heart is racing, hands are shaking,
Novel thoughts abound.
Looking 'round my cubicle,
The reason seems quite clear,
Soda cans and coffee cups,
Are piled to my ears.
But tomorrow looking back,
I'm sure that I will find,
Caffeine had confused my thoughts,
And distorted my mind.
In Santa Fe the only way
Is everything with green
In San Anton' my one-time home
Mesquite smoke takes the throne
Ketchup mixed with mayo
Is a Utah kind of thing
Sausage made of Caribou
The Fairbanks waiter brings
Is Ohio's favorite dish
Po-boys stuffed with crawfish
Make Louisiana rich
Food defines the taste of life
'Bout everywhere we go
Adding different flavors
To the path on which we go.
The well refills at a trickling flow,
Though steady and sure it's painfully slow.
When allowed to recharge and refill complete,
It's waters are cold and clear and sweet.
It refreshes and wets the dustiest thirst,
To hydrate and quench from last to first.
But draw out too often in quantities great,
The recharging waters will flow in too late.
And grasping for more sirs up silt and mud,
Which makes the dark water thicker than blood.
Losing its power to refresh and cool,
Nothing remains but a fetid dark pool.
High off the ground at the end of my rope,
Swaying in wind and clinging to hope
Questioning whether to hold till the last,
Or just let it go and come down with a crash.
Cloaked in spines just under skin
Ready to break out at the slightest touch
Itching to break free from below.
Frigid with hard bony edges
Other's touch highlights the cold
Recoil at feeling the warmth.
Knowing that touch is important
That others need to feel me
Suppress the urge to withdraw.
Know too that I need to be touched
To be human, to be happy
To keep the spines under the skin.
The clank and clatter of steel on steel,
The squeak and squeal of heavy wheels,
The muttered curses of tired young men,
The rumbling engines fill silence and then,
The thud of explosions just up ahead,
The unspoken fear that friends are now dead,
The cackle of rifles so very close by,
Men screaming for corpsmen in agony cry,
With no real idea what it's all for,
Beyond a vague notion we've done this before,
Results that profoundly were painful back then,
Resurface and teach the same lessons again,
We came here to liberate and to make free,
… Read the rest