Another attempt at Three Word Wednesday. Words are uneasy, drawn, and crumble (I took the liberty of changing to crumbled.) I wish I could be more consistent, but my heavy work schedule blahblahblah.
Rising
He woke
to the sound of rain
humbly descending
to earth
like an incarnate god.
Not an unqualified
blessing, this quiet
falling
is known to add up,
and add up, a
violent wash
scouring
the world's crust.
Yet he wakes
in hope; no uneasy
thoughts of trial
by water drawn
from sacred text
or history. Rising
like a blade of grass
from crumbled
soil, he begins
his halting resurrection.
Thursday, August 9, 2012
Wednesday, February 29, 2012
Practice
It's been awhile. For Three Word Wednesday. Prompt words Demand, Navigate, Crinkle.
Practice
There they are again.
Faint thuds, incessant,
demanding attention
like an unlatched
barn door banging
in the winter wind.
Perhaps that’s all it is:
a door ajar;
or a pile-drive
pounding columns
for the overpass
that will (we are promised)
help us navigate
the snarling traffic;
or the boy two streets down,
imagining a game
on the line, dribbling slowly
as he readies for the
final shot.
But I deceive myself.
I know if I travel
forty miles southwest,
past the spoiled Ogeechee
and tangled pines,
I’ll see
mangled earth,
I’ll feel
air crinkle
with concussive
power. Ft. Stewart trains
for death. Soon
they’ll set their sights
on flesh, on foreign
barns and bridges,
just as hopeful as
my neighbor kid that
practice pays off.
Practice
There they are again.
Faint thuds, incessant,
demanding attention
like an unlatched
barn door banging
in the winter wind.
Perhaps that’s all it is:
a door ajar;
or a pile-drive
pounding columns
for the overpass
that will (we are promised)
help us navigate
the snarling traffic;
or the boy two streets down,
imagining a game
on the line, dribbling slowly
as he readies for the
final shot.
But I deceive myself.
I know if I travel
forty miles southwest,
past the spoiled Ogeechee
and tangled pines,
I’ll see
mangled earth,
I’ll feel
air crinkle
with concussive
power. Ft. Stewart trains
for death. Soon
they’ll set their sights
on flesh, on foreign
barns and bridges,
just as hopeful as
my neighbor kid that
practice pays off.
Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Addendum to Previous Post: For A. and M.
"Specimen," as used in this context, probably refers to pee-pee. It could also refer to poo-poo, since this is also a specimen that must be processed. Thus, it is "Pee-pee Processor," or "Poo-poo Processor." I thank you for asking.
Tuesday, February 21, 2012
New job offer
Ok. We haven't been as busy at work as I need to be, so I've worked on a resume and sent it out to a few places over the last three or so months. Just got an email from CareerBuilders; they were pleased to inform me that, based on my resume, they would like me to consider a career as a Specimen Processor. Thanks for the boost of confidence.
Sunday, December 25, 2011
T. S. Eliot--The Cultivation of Christmas Trees
The Cultivation of Christmas Trees
-T.S. Eliot-
There are several attitudes towards Christmas,
Some of which we may disregard:
The social, the torpid, the patently commercial,
The rowdy (the pubs being open till midnight),
And the childish--which is not that of the child
For whom the candle is a star, and the gilded angel
Spreading its wings at the summit of the tree
Is not only a decoration, but an angel.
The child wonders at the Christmas Tree:
Let him continue in the spirit of wonder
At the Feast as an event not accepted as a pretext;
So that the glittering rapture, the amazement
Of the first-remembered Christmas Tree,
So that the surprises, delight in new possessions
(Each one with its peculiar and exciting smell),
The expectation of the goose or turkey
And the expected awe on its appearance,
So that the reverence and the gaiety
May not be forgotten in later experience,
In the bored habituation, the fatigue, the tedium,
The awareness of death, the consciousness of failure,
Or in the piety of the convert
Which may be tainted with a self-conceit
Displeasing to God and disrespectful to the children
(And here I remember with gratitude
St. Lucy, her carol, and her crown of fire):
So that before the end, the eightieth Christmas
(By “eightieth” meaning whichever is the last)
The accumulated memories of annual emotion
May be concentrated into a great joy
Which shall be also a great fear, as on the occasion
When fear came upon every soul:
Because the beginning shall remind us of the end
And the first coming of the second coming.
-T.S. Eliot-
There are several attitudes towards Christmas,
Some of which we may disregard:
The social, the torpid, the patently commercial,
The rowdy (the pubs being open till midnight),
And the childish--which is not that of the child
For whom the candle is a star, and the gilded angel
Spreading its wings at the summit of the tree
Is not only a decoration, but an angel.
The child wonders at the Christmas Tree:
Let him continue in the spirit of wonder
At the Feast as an event not accepted as a pretext;
So that the glittering rapture, the amazement
Of the first-remembered Christmas Tree,
So that the surprises, delight in new possessions
(Each one with its peculiar and exciting smell),
The expectation of the goose or turkey
And the expected awe on its appearance,
So that the reverence and the gaiety
May not be forgotten in later experience,
In the bored habituation, the fatigue, the tedium,
The awareness of death, the consciousness of failure,
Or in the piety of the convert
Which may be tainted with a self-conceit
Displeasing to God and disrespectful to the children
(And here I remember with gratitude
St. Lucy, her carol, and her crown of fire):
So that before the end, the eightieth Christmas
(By “eightieth” meaning whichever is the last)
The accumulated memories of annual emotion
May be concentrated into a great joy
Which shall be also a great fear, as on the occasion
When fear came upon every soul:
Because the beginning shall remind us of the end
And the first coming of the second coming.
Friday, July 15, 2011
Fate
For Three Word Wednesday, prompt words indecision, option, fate.
Fate
A part of Fate is the freedom of man. --R. W. Emerson
Fate beckoned, bowed
on one knee, while
a sycamore swayed
in the breeze. Long
fingers pointed either way,
momentous indecision.
Impossible to weigh
every blazing option;
Fate condescends,
leaves fall
where they may.
Fate
A part of Fate is the freedom of man. --R. W. Emerson
Fate beckoned, bowed
on one knee, while
a sycamore swayed
in the breeze. Long
fingers pointed either way,
momentous indecision.
Impossible to weigh
every blazing option;
Fate condescends,
leaves fall
where they may.
Saturday, July 9, 2011
Plant Dreams
This is for the good folks over at Bluebell Books. Thanks for the invite.
Plant Dreams
She is Queen of the Forest,
benevolent Sovereign of her
universe, every mound
of fertile soil her royal
playground. In this world
all life is an expression
of her will, touched
by a well-meaning hand.
She adores and protects
each greening leaf,
growing deep roots for
the sadness yet to come.
Do we know, without doubt,
what vegetation dreams about?
Plant Dreams
She is Queen of the Forest,
benevolent Sovereign of her
universe, every mound
of fertile soil her royal
playground. In this world
all life is an expression
of her will, touched
by a well-meaning hand.
She adores and protects
each greening leaf,
growing deep roots for
the sadness yet to come.
Do we know, without doubt,
what vegetation dreams about?
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