COMMITTED

Commit is a strange word having many meanings.  I just explained what it meant to me when I accidently hit a wrong key.  I spent the next thirty minutes pulling out my hair, screaming at myself for being so left brained, (or is it right brained?).  I was ready to be committed, locked up for the night or more, simply because I had earlier made a commitment to write about one word for the day.  I want to keep my word, even if just for myself.

For me to commit to love or life

used to have an old fashioned meaning

to me it was a covenant

a pledge of fidelity, love, and honor

to husband or wife.

meaning vows that could not be broken,

not just a momentary token.

I am sad to say this very day

there are temporary marriages,

disposable in society’s eyes,

easily tossed away even if someone cries.

lasting until someone deemed better,

for richer or more, better looking,

something external, surreal

not honesty, hard work that’s real,

committed to more than temporary ideal.

someone who is like fool’s gold,

a flash in the pan, but otherwise worthless.

My love, life, and future was based on biblical teachings and the examples of my parents and siblings. My commitments were based on covenant and sacred vows, my word, and my own way of choosing who I am. I write and select the things kept safe in my heart, and I am ashamed when I fail myself or others. I am committed to my personal beliefs and that commitment, such as respect for all people, drives me forward to our future.

june 23, 2017

COMMITTED

Commit is a strange word having many meanings.  I just explained what it meant to me when I accidently hit a wrong key.  I spent the next thirty minutes pulling out my hair, screaming at myself for being so left brained, (or is it right brained?).  I was ready to be committed, locked up for the night or more, simply because I had earlier made a commitment to write about one word for the day.  I want to keep my word, even if just for myself.

For me to commit to love or life

used to have an old fashioned meaning

to me it was a covenant

a pledge of fidelity, love, and honor

to husband or wife.

meaning vows that could not be broken,

not just a momentary token.

I am sad to say this very day

there are temporary marriages,

disposable in society’s eyes,

easily tossed away even if someone cries.

lasting until someone deemed better,

for richer or more, better looking,

something external, surreal

not honesty, hard work that’s real,

committed to more than temporary ideal.

someone who is like fool’s gold,

a flash in the pan, but otherwise worthless.

My love, life, and future was based on biblical teachings and the examples of my parents and siblings. My commitments were based on covenant and sacred vows, my word, and my own way of choosing who I am. I write and select the things kept safe in my heart, and I am ashamed when I fail myself or others. I am committed to my personal beliefs and that commitment, such as respect for all people, drives me forward to our future.

june 23, 2017

PAPER, WASTED

I know I waste too much paper.  I throw away stacks of paper when one of my characters takes a wrong turn and I have to rewrite her direction,  her moods, and her new plans.  If there’s a conflict a whole chapter may be filled with worst case scenarios. Only the final scenes determine which pages remain and which ones burn. Even poetry burns hotter some nights.

Long ago stories were chiseled on rock pages, and were much heavier than paper. Happy was the poet when he could do a little trimming and make his story lighter before he put it on his blog. A long story had to wait until paper was invented and ready to waste. the first story had to be short and sweet. It might have been told like this.  “I threw my spear with skill, moved village near kill.”

The Romans cut the stories even shorter. “Veni, Vidi, Vici.”

There were no paper magazines to advertise clothing. It was use hides and cloth or nothing. Paper was still gaining status until finally it was used as waste, one catalogue page at a time.

Pulp fiction took on a new meaning and paper became the norm. Those who star in the program, “Naked and Afraid,” must have tricks up their sleeves or hidden somewhere or they couldn’t turn down “paper or plastic.” Natural materials are not always as soft as paper.

Once in a country with less wealth and less waste, I discovered huts with cardboard walls.  I was amazed to see toilet paper used once, dried, and used again. I was more careful with waste paper after that. I want to leave this planet cleaner and as a responsible man, not as a paper tiger.

june 22, 2017

JUST ONE MOMENT

Life is a temporary stop in our journey through the heavens.  We will have time to visit without feeling rushed. We will  sing or dance or do all the things we imagined we could do.

Time is a variable. Each plant and each animal has its own time line. My space is located within the space allocated to humans.

I am a transient passing through worlds parallel, overlapping, and superimposed but to me there is only one lifetime I can live. I tried to explain all that to Albert but he was having trouble understanding all of the concepts.  Finally I said, “Albert, time is relative.”

We took a train trip and I explained the difference between riding in the train and watching the train go by. It took a while but gradually he began to understand.  I think he might be able to explain several theories if he pays attention but he is still fuzzy about the speed of light and how light can be bent and go even faster.  I’ll explain it again next week. I’d hate for him to give up when he’s this close. On the other hand, he could learn to be a poet and become famous. No one ever gets famous learning obscure mathematical theories. And maybe Albert could be a politician. No one ever knows what they’re talking about.  (or cares)

June 21, 2017

CLOSED CURTAINS

Closed Curtains

Grandma stood on the back porch dispensing advice.

“Don’t meddle with the pups,” I heard her say.

“Anyone who meddles after being warned,

Will have hell to pay!”

I learned my lesson early and then,

I had to learn it all over again.

Our family had moved from Oklahoma

Just two months earlier and were settling in,

But it was San Joaquin Valley hot,

And my younger brother and I decided to go for a swim.

Grandma was watching us close,

As we started walking beside the road.

“Watch out for the woman next door!”

Obediently we moved to the asphalt,

Bare feet on the hot pavement.

Our feet were frying, but neither was crying.

We heard a loud thumping and froze,

Craning our necks and looking strange, I suppose.

The old woman stood on her porch,

Thumping the butt of her shotgun,

In a steady rhythm to get our attention.

“Stay off my property, you damn Okies!” she screamed.

I don’t know if she would have shot or not.

We kept walking, no talking,

Afraid to ask questions.

I never knew if anyone made it clear,

But from time to time the old woman would appear,

And watch as badminton, croquet,

And other outdoor games were played.

We never retrieved anything that fell on her yard.

We didn’t meddle because she was on guard.

We did offer cookies, candy, and cake,

But she always shook her head and would not partake.

Choosing to stay behind closed curtains.

June 20, 2017

VOICES

VOICES

 

Relieved to know the night is over,

I open my eyes and wait.

The voices will be back,

They come at times I can’t anticipate.

They begin their attack,

As morning’s first surprise,

A beautiful time to wake and rise,

A time when I am not afraid.

The voices are familiar,

Voices of people I know,

People trying to stay out of sight,

Usually dressed in white.

There are walls on every side,

Places to hide and yet remain inside.

The voices are back,

This time with music that is too loud.

I am relieved to know it is cartoon time,

But they think I’m out of my mind,

And they don’t watch me blink,

And realize I still think.

If I could cry I would shed a tear,

But I am controlled by hate and fear.

Someone is screaming my name

But I’m not to blame.

It’s always the same.

Why do I need pills?

I’m tired of sleeping

When I know the world is keeping

Vigil, watching armies build and grow,

While I am locked within my head,

Alive for now, but almost dead,

The final war, the war to end all wars,

Is marching, marching, closing in,

Is this the beginning or the end?

June 19, 2017

BOTTLES

BOTTLES

I have a bottle filled with liquid dreams,

Dreams of love, mystery, and power.

When I am lonely, weak, or afraid,

I take a drink, sometimes often in my darkest hours.

This bottle is always half full,

Because dreams should never run dry.

I dream of being king,

With beautiful damsels dancing,

As far as I can see,

Eagerly offering to please me endlessly,

Armies kneeling at the mention of my name.

But it is not destined to be.

I am a twin, born twenty minutes too late,

And I have no kingdom unless changed by fate.

Perhaps if I put a different bottle in its place,

I could be somewhere else to show my face.

And if he chooses the other bottle,…..

There’s been a change of plans.

I don’t know what to say,

He wants to honor me today.

I don’t know which liquid I should partake.

It’s not an easy decision to make.

The king is waiting with outstretched arms,

I’ve pledged often to keep him from harm.

From each bottle I am expected to take one drink.

There’s no time to run, no time to think.

June 19, 2017