It’s been a while since I wrote anything about the family… It seems I’ve been on a poetry bender for the last several months, and have left the more weighty matters to moulder. I can’t for the life of me understand why it is that I feel inclined to make up silly rhymes to go with stupid pictures, but I guess I find it somewhat therapeutic to pull myself away from the world of analytical and sterile language that dominates my days at work. Unfortunately, that probably means that the three or so family members who have ever read this … Read the rest
A graying sky comes pressing on It's twilight at noon day Air's heavy since the early dawn Seems a storm is on it's way. A distant rumble passes by The horses snort and stomp A sudden flash lights up the sky My outside work must stop. In the barn a drum beat starts Quick tapping on tin roof A yearling kid now jumps and darts Beats dirt under her hoof. The tapping turns into a roar Explosions shake the walls Howling winds pound on the door The roof makes water falls. A thirsty earth gapes wide the mouth To drink… Read the rest
'Mid searing heat we pray for rain And hope for cloudy skies To wet the earth and cool the air Make shade for squinting eyes Withered plants cry out for damp And wilt in summer's heat On cracking earth with fissures wide Growth turned in fast retreat Dust and sun and baking winds Blow grit in eye and ear Peeling skin and cracking hands Pray that rain is near
Acknowledged but unspoken, Sitting heavy in this space, A weight on every shoulder, Tensile strain in every face. It's name must not be sounded, Nor its presence e'en confirmed, It's substance flat discounted, It's existence not affirmed. If aired, the thoughts and feelings, Formed about the ugly beast, Would stir it from a slumber, Then it on my peace would feast. So better to ignore it now, accept the stagnant stink, Give up what was my breathing room, Turn off my will to think. Confine myself to smaller space, Be glad I have some left, Then hope it won't demand… Read the rest
How is it that they cannot walk, When slower speed is wanted, Can play all day and jump and climb, On into night undaunted. Bounding to and fro with mirth, While chasing wind and rain, Grubbing, digging, wrestling too, Impervious to pain. But task them with some simple thing, Then comes a sudden crash, Aching backs and swollen tongues, With joint-pain and a rash. Bathroom breaks that take an hour, Drinks that last all day, Just anything to slow the pace, Because it isn't play.
There is a kind of tired, That resting can't assuage, Not caused by sweat and labor, Nor a product of great age. Oft it creeps in slowly, Caused by labors of the mind, When truths compete as valid, But no resolution find. They grind against each other, Then life adds in some grit, Of reason, hope and longing, That block and warp the fit; Which erstwhile might be forming, Were the process left alone, To smooth the roughened edges, Like a knife against the hone. And form a polished surface, Where the two can both reside, Supporting one another, Standing… Read the rest
Where do you turn when hope seems lost?
Several years ago, a friend of mine shared his thoughts on this topic. Jim was probably one of the happiest and kindest men I had ever met. His whole life had been dedicated to the cheerful service of others, and he was beloved by a great many as a result. Unfortunately, tragedy doesn’t seem to respect these kinds of distinctions, and struck Jim and his family rather abruptly and harshly. Several months before the exchange around which this article is based, Jim and his wife Helen had traveled to Europe for the … Read the rest
My patented and perfect cure Is worth it's weight in gold Composed of extracts much more pure Than ever have been sold. The larva from a tse-tse fly In tincture with exotic salt Applied just right to tired eye Will heal a ghastly fault. Pure essence of a tiger's blood To strengthen timid hearts And extract of a cobra's bile Rebuild your weaker parts. Fix your ills in just one dose Or ten, or maybe more A dose a day for just six weeks Will heal an ulcered sore. Taken for six hundred days While drifting out at sea Will… Read the rest
Guarded and gathered with zealous pride, More treasured than the sultan's horde, Kisses, caresses and hours at your side, Priceless, treasured, craved and adored. Warm with promise of hope and renewal, Spring's rays touch my up-turned face, But absent your eye the sun takes a fall, Shining icy and cold into desolate space. Unworthy I ponder what magic was played, To win your companionship, love and trust, A debtor in truth for a future now saved, You give purpose to rise from the dust.
It's not about precision Or doing it correctly Efficiency would call it waste When done this indirectly The final product may be flawed And lack a finer finish The craftsmanship could use some work Have defects or a blemish It could be done much quicker If I did it all myself It'd last a little longer Or look better on the shelf What lesson would that teach them What mem'ries would they find If I took it from their hands And kept it just for mine