Soggy Saturated Agri-Arkansas
Mississippi River delta bog
Last week's sun-bathing fields
are today's temporary aquifers
Impromptu lakes invade outward and
upward irreverent toward civilization
Contemptuous of carpentry of masonry of this
Ribbon of asphalt and rebar conduit of travel
Strips of un-submerged land subdivided
patches of cotton, beans, milo and corn
Gnarled leafless trees, pipe cleaners contorted
into so many wee Zacchaeus perches
Green felt houses rectangular two windows
one door smoke curling upward and eastward
Remnants of pinking-sheer cut colored cloth
Elmer-glued onto grocery-sack covered board
Post harvest cotton stalks shiver inside
oversized Dollar General store galoshes
Community minded pecan trees suddenly
become sullen existential giants
Murky Monsanto flavored Kool-Aid smothers every root
Even the stalwart hawks - red-tailed and sparrow
have abandoned their posts for Folgers and fudge
Only the crayfish and turtles and ducks find any solace
Everything else is huddled back into itself Slosh
But tomorrow will bring a fast food frenzy
for migratory snow geese dropping in to fuel up
on worms driven to the surface of the mire
A rest stop somewhere near Turrell and I55
"Slosh" by Jerry Buckley / Voice of One
Copyrite $#169; 2010 Jerry Buckley / Voice of One
Monday, November 29, 2010
clacks on cobbles
My shadow walks a ways ahead of me
In tippy-toes toward my tomorrow
As daylight settles in beside the lee
So sets sentiment's sad sorrow
My echo resonates behind my back
In leather clacks on cobbles
It does it best to keep on track
As is skitters, hops, and wobbles
My heartbeat hums inside its cage
Like a ruby-throated sparrow
Its only thought is to turn the page
Awake to you again tomorrow
Copyrite © 2010 Jerry Buckley / Voice of One
In tippy-toes toward my tomorrow
As daylight settles in beside the lee
So sets sentiment's sad sorrow
My echo resonates behind my back
In leather clacks on cobbles
It does it best to keep on track
As is skitters, hops, and wobbles
My heartbeat hums inside its cage
Like a ruby-throated sparrow
Its only thought is to turn the page
Awake to you again tomorrow
Copyrite © 2010 Jerry Buckley / Voice of One
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Turn
Don't come dancing up to me on some summer breeze
which can dissipate and change direction
Nor glimmer up above me - some full moon cheese
in waning, waxing, rote reflection
Don't pour your love out on me in raging streams
for I am sure to be dashed on the boulders
Nor flutter to me lightly on butterfly wings
which must all too soon slip from shoulders
Just turn to me baby - don't stay in your tracks
Turn toward me twenty-four-three-sixty-five
Turn to me baby like the earth on her axis
The more you turn the more I feel alive
Copyrite © 2010 Jerry Buckley / Voice of One
which can dissipate and change direction
Nor glimmer up above me - some full moon cheese
in waning, waxing, rote reflection
Don't pour your love out on me in raging streams
for I am sure to be dashed on the boulders
Nor flutter to me lightly on butterfly wings
which must all too soon slip from shoulders
Just turn to me baby - don't stay in your tracks
Turn toward me twenty-four-three-sixty-five
Turn to me baby like the earth on her axis
The more you turn the more I feel alive
Copyrite © 2010 Jerry Buckley / Voice of One
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Vandy Fan
It's difficult to be a Vandy fan
To sport the black and gold
I try my best to be a Vandy man
But it's beginning to get old
I've nothing against the Commodore
Nor his scholastic athletes
But be right nice if we could score
When our lads lace up their cleats
I've had a full fill-up of Rocky Top
And those butt-ugly orange clad fans
And I'd really love to cheer and hop
For our "Music City" manly-mans
Yes it's difficult to be a Vandy fan
And too damn easy to get a ticket
But I'll be back whenever I can
To watch 'em line it up and kick it
Submitted by Jerry Buckley / Voice of One
Copyrite © 2010 Voice of One
To sport the black and gold
I try my best to be a Vandy man
But it's beginning to get old
I've nothing against the Commodore
Nor his scholastic athletes
But be right nice if we could score
When our lads lace up their cleats
I've had a full fill-up of Rocky Top
And those butt-ugly orange clad fans
And I'd really love to cheer and hop
For our "Music City" manly-mans
Yes it's difficult to be a Vandy fan
And too damn easy to get a ticket
But I'll be back whenever I can
To watch 'em line it up and kick it
Submitted by Jerry Buckley / Voice of One
Copyrite © 2010 Voice of One
Locket
Whittle two hearts out of ivory
Nearly pure as driven flake
Latched in shimmering serpentine
Slithered round your dainty neck
Fix a lucky locket on chain and key
Your cameoed crown encased
I can unclasp it whenever I'm lonely
Touch fingertips to your face
Engrave our initials on sycamore tree
Up there! Where the fireflies play
Cut deep enough a generation can see
Then forget us once we're away
Copyrite © 2010 Jerry Buckley / Voice of One
Nearly pure as driven flake
Latched in shimmering serpentine
Slithered round your dainty neck
Fix a lucky locket on chain and key
Your cameoed crown encased
I can unclasp it whenever I'm lonely
Touch fingertips to your face
Engrave our initials on sycamore tree
Up there! Where the fireflies play
Cut deep enough a generation can see
Then forget us once we're away
Copyrite © 2010 Jerry Buckley / Voice of One
Equilibrium
Thank God for grand babies
And things that draw people together
Like pot-luck dinner Sundays
And parades through nice weather
Praise him for fall football
For plump cheerleaders and lousy bands
Grateful to have been a part
This world still wobbling in his hands
Echos through the stadium
Forbid it inconvenience our ears
Or upset our equilibrium
What's been granted us all these years
And things that draw people together
Like pot-luck dinner Sundays
And parades through nice weather
Praise him for fall football
For plump cheerleaders and lousy bands
Grateful to have been a part
This world still wobbling in his hands
Echos through the stadium
Forbid it inconvenience our ears
Or upset our equilibrium
What's been granted us all these years
Sunday, November 21, 2010
"My Favorites" Channel
As you know, I have never been very good with gadgets. I've never figured out how to use half the features on my cell phone. I always need to have help in even setting the time on my digital watch: and so I’m now embarked upon another exercise in futility I am sure. But I am doing my best to program my new XM radio satellite receiver - which you gave me for Christmas - trying to figure out how I can program one unique "my favorites" channel. I realize that I am asking the impossible of my new toy, but I want to program a station that would only play the most special and magical of songs.
It would only play for instance; John Mellencamp on Mondays - mixed with a smattering of Los Lonely Boys - so I could recall the countless times we sang along together; and my mind would wander back to that Saturday night in Freedom Hall; jamming with them Indiana boys and dancing in place with you until my knee throbbed.
It would be programmed to not play any worn out Billy Joel piano songs, but would regularly render "Just the Way You Are" our adopted song, and I could think to myself how you liked the melody line, while for me it was all about the lyrics, wishing they could have come to pass for us both.
Every evening at happy hour, it would play Fleetwood Mac, "Rumors" and our minds eye would transport us away on a "big ole jet air liner" to Cancun, where I would fantasize of a certain Skinny Minnie gringo all wide- eyed and wonderful, snorkeling the Isla de Mujers - her bubble- butt bikini pointing the way to heaven. Tequila-giddily asking a Chihuahua’s owner in which language his dog barks.
In the cool of the afternoon we would float off in dream sequence to the relaxing underground river of sound and we would rewind that magic duet in Musica Romantica - and we could re-experience the power of the emotion shared by two exotic songbirds. And marvel about how a canto we couldn't comprehend would haunt us long after the time we would inevitably forget the tune.
In the autumn, we would take a drive together - sun roof open - up to Big South Fork; and the tuner would know to only feature Keith Urban and Tim McGraw radio hits; and you would be all luminosity and giggles in blowing hair. And the feelings you have for the music could be a catharsis for what you are so seldom able to feel with me - but it would help you forget about your deprivations - and you would allow a small glimmer of the glow to flow toward me.
Then again on Fridays it would play "O Brother Where Art Thou" and we would re-live the great depression together; ignorantly blissful and barefoot among the Mississippi pines. John Prine would escort us down back roads in automobiles and pants to our knees, and Leonard Cohen could drone endlessly into the wee hours of the morning and we could re-visit honeymoon sentiments.
Of course, it would be the All Al Green Channel on Saturday nights. You would be teasing me and flirting with me, when suddenly it would jump up and play us some Van Morrison, and we would hop in the car and drive the horny mile and a half to Friends Lounge, dancing unrestricted together until we were lathered in a summer sweat. I’d perfectly hit the high harmony on "Brown Eyed Girl" - sticking my "sha na na" into your ear at just the right moment. And then, I’d be doing my best Johnny Cougar strut and I would once again excite your body and you would want to touch me underneath the table in the darkened corner.
On holidays it would always remember to serve up -with a side order of fireworks - Tchaikovsky’s "Overturn of 1812"; complete with deafening cannon fire and simultaneous orgasm. I would be lying back on the blanket, along the banks of the Mississippi River - with you carefree at my side. And if I didn’t drink too much, and if I listened patiently enough, we would get to hear James Hyter sing six choruses of "Ole Man River" and then - as the tears would begin to well up inside my bosom - the magical evening would downshift into "You’ll Never Walk Alone" and I could then foolishly carry on - mistakenly believing the world to be right again - and so to fall asleep sans struggle.
It would only play for instance; John Mellencamp on Mondays - mixed with a smattering of Los Lonely Boys - so I could recall the countless times we sang along together; and my mind would wander back to that Saturday night in Freedom Hall; jamming with them Indiana boys and dancing in place with you until my knee throbbed.
It would be programmed to not play any worn out Billy Joel piano songs, but would regularly render "Just the Way You Are" our adopted song, and I could think to myself how you liked the melody line, while for me it was all about the lyrics, wishing they could have come to pass for us both.
Every evening at happy hour, it would play Fleetwood Mac, "Rumors" and our minds eye would transport us away on a "big ole jet air liner" to Cancun, where I would fantasize of a certain Skinny Minnie gringo all wide- eyed and wonderful, snorkeling the Isla de Mujers - her bubble- butt bikini pointing the way to heaven. Tequila-giddily asking a Chihuahua’s owner in which language his dog barks.
In the cool of the afternoon we would float off in dream sequence to the relaxing underground river of sound and we would rewind that magic duet in Musica Romantica - and we could re-experience the power of the emotion shared by two exotic songbirds. And marvel about how a canto we couldn't comprehend would haunt us long after the time we would inevitably forget the tune.
In the autumn, we would take a drive together - sun roof open - up to Big South Fork; and the tuner would know to only feature Keith Urban and Tim McGraw radio hits; and you would be all luminosity and giggles in blowing hair. And the feelings you have for the music could be a catharsis for what you are so seldom able to feel with me - but it would help you forget about your deprivations - and you would allow a small glimmer of the glow to flow toward me.
Then again on Fridays it would play "O Brother Where Art Thou" and we would re-live the great depression together; ignorantly blissful and barefoot among the Mississippi pines. John Prine would escort us down back roads in automobiles and pants to our knees, and Leonard Cohen could drone endlessly into the wee hours of the morning and we could re-visit honeymoon sentiments.
Of course, it would be the All Al Green Channel on Saturday nights. You would be teasing me and flirting with me, when suddenly it would jump up and play us some Van Morrison, and we would hop in the car and drive the horny mile and a half to Friends Lounge, dancing unrestricted together until we were lathered in a summer sweat. I’d perfectly hit the high harmony on "Brown Eyed Girl" - sticking my "sha na na" into your ear at just the right moment. And then, I’d be doing my best Johnny Cougar strut and I would once again excite your body and you would want to touch me underneath the table in the darkened corner.
On holidays it would always remember to serve up -with a side order of fireworks - Tchaikovsky’s "Overturn of 1812"; complete with deafening cannon fire and simultaneous orgasm. I would be lying back on the blanket, along the banks of the Mississippi River - with you carefree at my side. And if I didn’t drink too much, and if I listened patiently enough, we would get to hear James Hyter sing six choruses of "Ole Man River" and then - as the tears would begin to well up inside my bosom - the magical evening would downshift into "You’ll Never Walk Alone" and I could then foolishly carry on - mistakenly believing the world to be right again - and so to fall asleep sans struggle.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Heart Shaped Box
One single-stemmed rose should indicate indifference
At these my joys in you discovered
Nor dozens box-wrapped in baby's breath fragrance
Stacked one-on-top-another
This Hallmark card - such impudent inks unfold
Envelopes mute appreciation
For everything endured were the whole story told
Trials trailing tribulation
One heart shaped box thumps redundantly true
in piques and pulses until it's sore
Long past searching for anything novel or new
lays daffodils at your door
At these my joys in you discovered
Nor dozens box-wrapped in baby's breath fragrance
Stacked one-on-top-another
This Hallmark card - such impudent inks unfold
Envelopes mute appreciation
For everything endured were the whole story told
Trials trailing tribulation
One heart shaped box thumps redundantly true
in piques and pulses until it's sore
Long past searching for anything novel or new
lays daffodils at your door
Friday, November 19, 2010
Bartimaues
Mine eyes are set and shining luminous
Since they first fixed sights near and true
Blind Bartimaeus alive and amorous
Longs for you and nothing but the you
The hills came alive with Julie Andrews
Satiate glaciers fed teaming streams
I pledged my love and my two pence true
And we would struggle to make the means
Cuddled - all cloistered in a pin oak tree
Coaxed hybrid life-lines from the nest
Good sons grafted from such dis-similar seed
Dad was dandy - but Momma always knew best
Since they first fixed sights near and true
Blind Bartimaeus alive and amorous
Longs for you and nothing but the you
The hills came alive with Julie Andrews
Satiate glaciers fed teaming streams
I pledged my love and my two pence true
And we would struggle to make the means
Cuddled - all cloistered in a pin oak tree
Coaxed hybrid life-lines from the nest
Good sons grafted from such dis-similar seed
Dad was dandy - but Momma always knew best
Maypole
You queried me the other night while we were getting into bed
What main-most things I'd miss about you whenever you'd be gone away
As if you had skipped a few chapters and had leap-froged up ahead
As if you were closing out the books upon before your very last cut-off day
And I likely pipped some ring-dang-doo or chimed your pleasant clime
Or quipped some school boy snippet in praise of your bonnie broad derriere
Thoughtless responses such as these quips can but flounder as they stall for time
Melting - I'd be like the wicked witch - if I thought I'd lost you along the way
Should verdant vine - profoundly rooted in the earth - yet slacking in support
Subsist to ascent another 'morrow had it no ascending ladder to inter-twine
Sit still love - let your stem be my Maypole I'll wrap around your good purport
Root bind your self - here in my English garden - settle in - relax - unwind
What main-most things I'd miss about you whenever you'd be gone away
As if you had skipped a few chapters and had leap-froged up ahead
As if you were closing out the books upon before your very last cut-off day
And I likely pipped some ring-dang-doo or chimed your pleasant clime
Or quipped some school boy snippet in praise of your bonnie broad derriere
Thoughtless responses such as these quips can but flounder as they stall for time
Melting - I'd be like the wicked witch - if I thought I'd lost you along the way
Should verdant vine - profoundly rooted in the earth - yet slacking in support
Subsist to ascent another 'morrow had it no ascending ladder to inter-twine
Sit still love - let your stem be my Maypole I'll wrap around your good purport
Root bind your self - here in my English garden - settle in - relax - unwind
Thursday, November 18, 2010
mudspittle
Not necessarily graceful
Sometimes sheer force supercedes
Each intention to be civil
The will to win can over reach
Usually less exhilarating
There's all those "kiss-your-sisters"
Then afterwards less accommodating
What with the bruises and the blisters
Never is it very glamorous
Cheer squads don't study futbol
But it it's o-u-r foo-kin favorite
The most beautiful game of all!
Sometimes sheer force supercedes
Each intention to be civil
The will to win can over reach
Usually less exhilarating
There's all those "kiss-your-sisters"
Then afterwards less accommodating
What with the bruises and the blisters
Never is it very glamorous
Cheer squads don't study futbol
But it it's o-u-r foo-kin favorite
The most beautiful game of all!
Flannery O Connor on Interpretation
There is always the danger of over-analysis coming between the reader and author, a danger of which O'Connor was keenly aware.
(Read her letter of March 28, 1961, to a professor of English who shared with O'Connor his students' interpretation of "A Good Man is Hard to Find." Her letter begins: "The interpretation of your ninety students and three teachers is fantastic and about as far from my intentions as it could get to be." It ends: "Too much interpretation is certainly worse than too little, and where feeling for a story is absent, theory will not supply it. My tone is not meant to be obnoxious. I am in a state of shock.")
(Read her letter of March 28, 1961, to a professor of English who shared with O'Connor his students' interpretation of "A Good Man is Hard to Find." Her letter begins: "The interpretation of your ninety students and three teachers is fantastic and about as far from my intentions as it could get to be." It ends: "Too much interpretation is certainly worse than too little, and where feeling for a story is absent, theory will not supply it. My tone is not meant to be obnoxious. I am in a state of shock.")
Wednesday, November 17, 2010
ECHO..Echo..echo
Embrace my echo
Now that my voice has gone quiet
Scrounge for my shadow
While you have what's left of light
Imbibe my music
May it float on warm breezes
Anoint my bruises
For whatever your reasons
Fix my frailty
Please poison my every pest
Remember me kindly
Sure hope we all passed the test
"In Memory of Greg Fulkerson"
Now that my voice has gone quiet
Scrounge for my shadow
While you have what's left of light
Imbibe my music
May it float on warm breezes
Anoint my bruises
For whatever your reasons
Fix my frailty
Please poison my every pest
Remember me kindly
Sure hope we all passed the test
"In Memory of Greg Fulkerson"
Mon Aimi
Happy Birthday to you - mon aimi
It's easier written down than said - to wife
Happy Birthday! Today and every day
And to myself for being part of your life
Thank you for showing me the city of lights
And for the lock in at London Tower
Thanks for sharing with me your couch at night
And for any love you'd care to shower
Happy Birthday to you - mon cheri
Glows like Eiffel's twinkled evening
As years float by like barques on the Seine
I'll set time by your rise and leaving
It's easier written down than said - to wife
Happy Birthday! Today and every day
And to myself for being part of your life
Thank you for showing me the city of lights
And for the lock in at London Tower
Thanks for sharing with me your couch at night
And for any love you'd care to shower
Happy Birthday to you - mon cheri
Glows like Eiffel's twinkled evening
As years float by like barques on the Seine
I'll set time by your rise and leaving
Kneading You
Kneading you - again and anon
Prodding and plying your defenses
With friction, lubricant and pressure
Wistful to compel your falling listless
A sort of Raggedy Ann embracing Valium
"The other side - please"
Again it's a left-brain treatment
Mercy seat of torque and tension
Resides beside yesterday's resentments
A major source of a minor irritation
I'm jealous then - that these knots
Snuggling around about you like a noose
Have attached themselves so much closer to you
Than I am - from where I've set myself so loose
Encircling you - like a ring you can't pry off
"... as long as we both shall live"
Prodding and plying your defenses
With friction, lubricant and pressure
Wistful to compel your falling listless
A sort of Raggedy Ann embracing Valium
"The other side - please"
Again it's a left-brain treatment
Mercy seat of torque and tension
Resides beside yesterday's resentments
A major source of a minor irritation
I'm jealous then - that these knots
Snuggling around about you like a noose
Have attached themselves so much closer to you
Than I am - from where I've set myself so loose
Encircling you - like a ring you can't pry off
"... as long as we both shall live"
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
"Recurring Themes" in the novels of William Faulkner
When asked about the recurring imagery of crucifixion in his fiction, William Faulkner in 1957 replied, "Remember the writer must write out of his background. He must write out of what he knows, and the
Christian legend is part of any Christian's background, especially the background of a country boy, a Southern country boy. My life was passed, my childhood, in a very small Mississippi town ... and that was part of my background. It has nothing to do with how much of it I might believe or disbelieve - it's just there."
Christian legend is part of any Christian's background, especially the background of a country boy, a Southern country boy. My life was passed, my childhood, in a very small Mississippi town ... and that was part of my background. It has nothing to do with how much of it I might believe or disbelieve - it's just there."
Monday, November 15, 2010
A comment on integrity by Ayn Rand
Integrity: "Ayn Rand
'The virtue involved in helping those one loves is not 'selflessness' or 'sacrifice,' but integrity. Integrity is loyalty to one’s convictions and values; it is the policy of acting in accordance with one’s values, of expressing, upholding and translating them into practical reality.'"
'The virtue involved in helping those one loves is not 'selflessness' or 'sacrifice,' but integrity. Integrity is loyalty to one’s convictions and values; it is the policy of acting in accordance with one’s values, of expressing, upholding and translating them into practical reality.'"
Thursday, November 11, 2010
The Method of Revision / some notes to self on the advice of Stephen King
Write with the door shut until you have a very good finished product. Don't show anybody anything until it is prim and proper. Share first with one person, your Important Reader, who is most likely your spouse or partner, or possible a mentor or colleague. Celebrate the completed project and put the draft in a drawer for six weeks untouched. Go to work on next project.
Conduct the revision with the door closed. Areas of primary concern and concentration include:
1. unclear pronouns - make sure it is absolutely clear who is antecedent
2. unnecessary adverbs - adverbs are not your friend - minimilist usage
3. recurring elements? identify - repeat - expand upon - make symbolic
4. keep asking "What do I mean?" Can I "show" this without saying it?
5. check the pace - Where will the reader get bored or confused?
Share your revised version with five or six important readers, requesting them to apply the same criteria. Involve only those who will give you honest feedback and suggestions, or tell you when something doesn't work. Revise once more with particular attention to those areas of your own weakness:
J B's supplemental checklist for revision: "The Gospel Chariot"
1. vernacular? How would they say it back home?
2. Biblical accuracy? Is this the best archtype from scripture?
3. punctuation & sentence length ? effective use of the dash symbol
4. point of view? Am I still telling this "eye witness" or omniscient?
5. respect? Am I alienating too many readers - due to "blasphemy"?
Conduct the revision with the door closed. Areas of primary concern and concentration include:
1. unclear pronouns - make sure it is absolutely clear who is antecedent
2. unnecessary adverbs - adverbs are not your friend - minimilist usage
3. recurring elements? identify - repeat - expand upon - make symbolic
4. keep asking "What do I mean?" Can I "show" this without saying it?
5. check the pace - Where will the reader get bored or confused?
Share your revised version with five or six important readers, requesting them to apply the same criteria. Involve only those who will give you honest feedback and suggestions, or tell you when something doesn't work. Revise once more with particular attention to those areas of your own weakness:
J B's supplemental checklist for revision: "The Gospel Chariot"
1. vernacular? How would they say it back home?
2. Biblical accuracy? Is this the best archtype from scripture?
3. punctuation & sentence length ? effective use of the dash symbol
4. point of view? Am I still telling this "eye witness" or omniscient?
5. respect? Am I alienating too many readers - due to "blasphemy"?
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Preserves
Preserve your favor lover - a little bit for later
Patted down with spices from all four winds
Offered with olives and sun dried tomato
Help me discover where the spice isle begins
Preserve my enrapture - another moment's pause
Saved to "favorites" in a folder marked "My Man"
Observe my devotion to your every worthy cause
It's your turn to take while I give what I can
Preserve your loving kindness - forever shown to me
Ice it down good and stick it up under the shade
Un-nerve you see - this tiny speck I've come to be
Show me unreservedly many ways I've got it made
Preserve your preference - please don't count it duty
Sugar soaked in Sure-Gel and put up in a in Mason jar
Hors-d-ouerve on occasions your a la carte beauty
Each course more savory than the ones before
Preserve your affection - yet for me in waning phase
Sent to your hard drive and kept for no good reason
Conserved in clay vessels and cached in cryptic caves
Save a little of your sunshine for my monsoon season
Patted down with spices from all four winds
Offered with olives and sun dried tomato
Help me discover where the spice isle begins
Preserve my enrapture - another moment's pause
Saved to "favorites" in a folder marked "My Man"
Observe my devotion to your every worthy cause
It's your turn to take while I give what I can
Preserve your loving kindness - forever shown to me
Ice it down good and stick it up under the shade
Un-nerve you see - this tiny speck I've come to be
Show me unreservedly many ways I've got it made
Preserve your preference - please don't count it duty
Sugar soaked in Sure-Gel and put up in a in Mason jar
Hors-d-ouerve on occasions your a la carte beauty
Each course more savory than the ones before
Preserve your affection - yet for me in waning phase
Sent to your hard drive and kept for no good reason
Conserved in clay vessels and cached in cryptic caves
Save a little of your sunshine for my monsoon season
Wednesday, November 3, 2010
Cicadas
Veiled behind a waning and gloaming light
This evens lost its appetite
But it’s too lovely out to go inside
Rather sit here alone and hide
This yellow wine is truly impressive
I don’t chardonnay that often
But it helps a little - my regressive
freeze-dried disposition soften
Dog day cicadas are mocking this town
Incessant other-worldly drone
Now that traffic has worn itself down
The red warrior mounts his throne
Time drags it's tail - a sullen slew-foot boy
Too encumbered to join in play
Night marches forward like a wind-up toy
Anticipates more wakeful day
This evens lost its appetite
But it’s too lovely out to go inside
Rather sit here alone and hide
This yellow wine is truly impressive
I don’t chardonnay that often
But it helps a little - my regressive
freeze-dried disposition soften
Dog day cicadas are mocking this town
Incessant other-worldly drone
Now that traffic has worn itself down
The red warrior mounts his throne
Time drags it's tail - a sullen slew-foot boy
Too encumbered to join in play
Night marches forward like a wind-up toy
Anticipates more wakeful day
Unglued
The hairs on my head are graying
My mirror says it’s sad but true
The ends of my nerves are fraying
As my handle-on-things comes unglued
The words from my lips are mumbled
Just mute to explain how I feel
The thoughts in my head are jumbled
They hiccup, they stumble and they reel
The weight on my heart is heavy
With an ache more than it can bear
Once-upon-a-time you loved me
Today you don’t know if you even care
The love of my life is jaded
Light years beyond way back when
The gleam in her eyes has faded
Will I ever see that sparkle again?
My mirror says it’s sad but true
The ends of my nerves are fraying
As my handle-on-things comes unglued
The words from my lips are mumbled
Just mute to explain how I feel
The thoughts in my head are jumbled
They hiccup, they stumble and they reel
The weight on my heart is heavy
With an ache more than it can bear
Once-upon-a-time you loved me
Today you don’t know if you even care
The love of my life is jaded
Light years beyond way back when
The gleam in her eyes has faded
Will I ever see that sparkle again?
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Straight Paths
I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness
"Make straight paths for the Lord"
And we followed in those paths, dutifully
Down shag-carpet stairways into Chevy station wagons
Eight miles into town to attend Sunday school at 9:00
And worship service at 10:15 and Lord afterwards
Allowing fifteen minutes for heart-felt fellowship, home again
Giggitty gig with Q-Mart fried chicken to go - home again
To Mom’s home-ade biscuits and mashed potatoes with milk gravy
The very Elmer’s glue of the patriarchs I am sure
And we discovered those paths - wide open sideways in Chevy coups
Noisily cavorting across murky river bottoms and county lines
To score some weed or to look up some chicks one of us claimed to know
Gulping a $3 bottle of fruit-puke wine on Sunday afternoons
Barrell-assin’ home before dark in time for Sunday evening services
Playing freeze-out through town so Dads shouldn’t smell smoke
No casual Christians we - Besides we all had such nice voices
The Von Trapp Family singers meets Fanny J Crosby
And we trampled those paths - back and forth from work to school
In fuel sipping Datsun tin cans; then home again to crash then back to work
Until that one day when we were stopped dead in our tracks by some odd girl
Sliding into home base - where new paths are sought and tread
And escape routes gleefully become a thing of the wistful past
Returns home - monogamous - with near monotonous regularity
My Chevy truck could drive it blind-folded if she had the road to herself
Drags up steps to a greet a loving dog and outside to toss a baseball
And so we traced those paths - to jobs and sometimes to promotions
Or skeltered down indistinct pathways ending in yet another cul de sac
Dutifully in Nissan sedans - to baseball games and Boy Scout meetings
Soccer practice and tournaments Sunday schools and birthday parties
Step meetings and marriage council appointments - weekend retreats
Then follows another's Benz back home to sit in rooms large as caverns
Where familiarity and loathing stage a yin-yang dance one with another
Maintains, then those paths - At least for now - For the sake of vows taken
"Make straight paths for the Lord"
And we followed in those paths, dutifully
Down shag-carpet stairways into Chevy station wagons
Eight miles into town to attend Sunday school at 9:00
And worship service at 10:15 and Lord afterwards
Allowing fifteen minutes for heart-felt fellowship, home again
Giggitty gig with Q-Mart fried chicken to go - home again
To Mom’s home-ade biscuits and mashed potatoes with milk gravy
The very Elmer’s glue of the patriarchs I am sure
And we discovered those paths - wide open sideways in Chevy coups
Noisily cavorting across murky river bottoms and county lines
To score some weed or to look up some chicks one of us claimed to know
Gulping a $3 bottle of fruit-puke wine on Sunday afternoons
Barrell-assin’ home before dark in time for Sunday evening services
Playing freeze-out through town so Dads shouldn’t smell smoke
No casual Christians we - Besides we all had such nice voices
The Von Trapp Family singers meets Fanny J Crosby
And we trampled those paths - back and forth from work to school
In fuel sipping Datsun tin cans; then home again to crash then back to work
Until that one day when we were stopped dead in our tracks by some odd girl
Sliding into home base - where new paths are sought and tread
And escape routes gleefully become a thing of the wistful past
Returns home - monogamous - with near monotonous regularity
My Chevy truck could drive it blind-folded if she had the road to herself
Drags up steps to a greet a loving dog and outside to toss a baseball
And so we traced those paths - to jobs and sometimes to promotions
Or skeltered down indistinct pathways ending in yet another cul de sac
Dutifully in Nissan sedans - to baseball games and Boy Scout meetings
Soccer practice and tournaments Sunday schools and birthday parties
Step meetings and marriage council appointments - weekend retreats
Then follows another's Benz back home to sit in rooms large as caverns
Where familiarity and loathing stage a yin-yang dance one with another
Maintains, then those paths - At least for now - For the sake of vows taken
Natalie
She’s short but so sweet
Designer dressed neat
Sure enough double hand full
Uber stylish and hip
And smart as a whip
Many respects more than ample
She’s country élan’
And chocked full of fun
Next to a sure bet gamble
She's a "Tiffany's" child
Neither meek never mild
All she is we all are thankful
Designer dressed neat
Sure enough double hand full
Uber stylish and hip
And smart as a whip
Many respects more than ample
She’s country élan’
And chocked full of fun
Next to a sure bet gamble
She's a "Tiffany's" child
Neither meek never mild
All she is we all are thankful
Perched
Six starched pairs cotton khakis slacks
Boots and belt and six crisp cotton shirts
Gone and I don’t know when I'll back
Do you know how much this hurts?
Toothbrush, paste, floss, Listerine
Shaving cream and men’s cologne
Keep one another's good company
Me myself and I’m alone
Thirteen channels - eleven inch screen
Perched on a three drawer dresser
A Sally Field movie I've already seen
Reminds me just how I miss her
Boots and belt and six crisp cotton shirts
Gone and I don’t know when I'll back
Do you know how much this hurts?
Toothbrush, paste, floss, Listerine
Shaving cream and men’s cologne
Keep one another's good company
Me myself and I’m alone
Thirteen channels - eleven inch screen
Perched on a three drawer dresser
A Sally Field movie I've already seen
Reminds me just how I miss her
standard equipment
Boots? Required Style? Optional Mud? Mandatory
Shirt? Button-up, Stripes optional - but impressive
Belt? Just take a look at the patrons in the BBQ shack
Only an enlightened few around here are keeping it trim
Misfit loners eating pig salads instead of jumbo sandwich plates
Who jog three miles rather than drink three beers after work
Trousers? Wranglers -boot-cut; or Carharts for the big dogs
Most times a round relief resides in one of the posterior pockets
Optional - Work pants which match a shirt with your name on it
Hair styles? Oh my goodness! Such wide variety on display
Neat National Guard high and tight, and your basic car salesman cuts
Scruffy, glassy eyed buckaroos sporting 1980's mullets; or worse
Dude who haven't stepped inside a barbershop since Kurt Cobain died
Old geezers with more hair on the inside of the ear than on the head
Some twenty-something year homey in sweatpants - an 18 inch horse mane
Swishing out the opening in the back of his Realtree camouflage crown
Caps? Mandatory of course! Unless your are a salesman or a banker
Mangled straw Stetson’s allowed but only if you ride in the rodeo
Over to State University or up the boot-heel or else you farm big plots
And in such case it is sometimes customary to have the audacity to flaunt
A Texas-sized set of ass-kickin’ steer horns mounted on the front bumper
Of your badly mud caked - mandatory - GM Ford or Dodge pick-up truck
Shirt? Button-up, Stripes optional - but impressive
Belt? Just take a look at the patrons in the BBQ shack
Only an enlightened few around here are keeping it trim
Misfit loners eating pig salads instead of jumbo sandwich plates
Who jog three miles rather than drink three beers after work
Trousers? Wranglers -boot-cut; or Carharts for the big dogs
Most times a round relief resides in one of the posterior pockets
Optional - Work pants which match a shirt with your name on it
Hair styles? Oh my goodness! Such wide variety on display
Neat National Guard high and tight, and your basic car salesman cuts
Scruffy, glassy eyed buckaroos sporting 1980's mullets; or worse
Dude who haven't stepped inside a barbershop since Kurt Cobain died
Old geezers with more hair on the inside of the ear than on the head
Some twenty-something year homey in sweatpants - an 18 inch horse mane
Swishing out the opening in the back of his Realtree camouflage crown
Caps? Mandatory of course! Unless your are a salesman or a banker
Mangled straw Stetson’s allowed but only if you ride in the rodeo
Over to State University or up the boot-heel or else you farm big plots
And in such case it is sometimes customary to have the audacity to flaunt
A Texas-sized set of ass-kickin’ steer horns mounted on the front bumper
Of your badly mud caked - mandatory - GM Ford or Dodge pick-up truck
Monday, November 1, 2010
Flannery O'Connor on Faith
...Faith is the freedom to with-hold one's final ascent from the determinism of one's theories about how the world works. It keeps us from leaping to conclusions which betray us. It is a matter not of what we know, nor even of what we don't know, but only of whether we allow ourselves to claim that all the evidence is in. It is this skepticism which keeps us free - not free to do anything we please, but free to be formed by something larger than our own intellects or the intellects of those around us....Faith doe not force us to abandon comprehension or to adopt a transparently false theory about the world .... it recognizes that it is not master of what it surveys.
John Burt on Flannery O'Connor's concept of "What You Can't Talk About"
John Burt on Flannery O'Connor's concept of "What You Can't Talk About"
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