The close-knit family was not showing up for work. I tried to find out where they lived but I had no success until I arrived home three weeks later. Rebekkah did not look well. Her eyes were swollen, her hair tangled, and her clothes wrinkled.
“What happened?” I asked.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” she replied.
I kept asking and finally Jacob called me aside. “This is something we cannot talk about. It’s painful and terrible. We haven’t found the end of the problem yet. Just so you know, two weeks ago Joe was with friends at our house and they took too many drugs. Joe and his friends raped Rebekkah. Some of our family are looking for Joe. It’s about family honor and revenge. We are trying to get back to normal but Joe will never be safe.”
“Where is he staying?” I asked.
“We heard he was heading for California but we lost his trail. We’ll find him.”
That night I was awakened from a sound sleep by a man’s voice. “Help me,” he pleaded. “I didn’t know what I was doing. My cousins want to kill me. I need money to fix my car so I can get away. Do you have more trees I can cut down?”
I looked down the hallway. A man sat hunched over on the floor, his arms around his knees. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
I walked towards him but he disappeared before I got there. After a few minutes of searching I gave up. Twice more I heard him and twice more he was not really there. “Hide me,” he whispered.
The house was built against a cliff and there was a small space with a door left between concrete and rock. I didn’t intend to ever open that door because many copperhead snakes thrived there. I never saw Joe again nor did I hear his voice. I wanted no part of their close-knit family.
june 24, 2017
How can something be created out of nothing?
do existing building blocks
determine whether new creations are formed?
What is new? Something that grew?
Or is that simply a step away from
something we already knew?
I shudder to think the world is on the brink
Of changing what was originally created,
building and connecting and welcoming
something which could survive in a nuclear sea,
something we could eat or drink,
but not eat you or me.
My idea of creation is a more gentle view,
where love and life may begin anew,
and all things, artificial or natural, are beautiful
without hate changing any part of me or you.
June 17, 201
She was too tall. I was too short.
She was too rich. I was too poor.
She was too thin. I was too fat.
She was too old. I was too young.
She was too hot. I was too cold.
I loved her too much. She loved me more.
She listened to others. I didn’t listen at all at first.
Together we loved passionately and filled our days with laughter.
Our love had no boundaries until we listened too much.
Our friends said we needed each other too much.
They said we should stay away and give each other time to grow and love others.
I think our friends were wrong.
Now I have too much time and too much unfulfilled love.
How can I hurt so much and feel so empty?
I want to be with her again with less friends.
They had too much time and not enough love to fill their own lives.
Maybe I want too much love, but I am ready to give
Too much love forever.
The king was young and energetic but he was tired of wars, tired of negotiating, tired of having to race around his kingdom assuring his subjects he would be there to rally the troops. If an opposing army threatened, the king needed an envoy, someone who would represent the king and prove that he did indeed represent the king. The representative to leave earlier so the king could organize his followers and hide his treasures.
If the envoy was not loyal, it could be disastrous. If his subjects knew the king had sent the envoy and believed him to be a true subject, they would rally to the cause. There had to be a way to keep the king’s picture, or an impression of him, fresh in his people’s memories.
He summoned his wise men and presented them with the problem. He said, “I can’t continue at the current pace of racing around the countryside like a politician, making sure my subjects remember who I am. I have to get enough support to remain king. Someone has to represent me at the political action committees, kiss enough babies, promise enough victories, raise enough money to pay for all the castles, fund the crusades, etc. When will I have time for all that? I want people to believe my vice-king is telling the truth, just like I do.”
The wise men sat in a circle and discussed the problem. They began to shake their heads. “There is no way someone can represent the king and the truth. No one looks or sounds like the king and no one believes he always tells the truth. And who can draw enough pictures that look like the king? Every picture is a little bit different. Fraud investigators would have a field day with that one.”
A young waitress was pouring tankards of ale and overheard their conversation. “Sirs, every person sits down differently and leaves a different impression on their chair’s cushion. The King has been riding most of the day. He always leaves a broad impression.”
The wise men considered her words carefully. “We agree, but that impression is too large and not very long lasting.”
The waitress considered that for a moment. “Last night the king was so tired he did not remove all of his jewelry when he was getting ready for bed. He was still writing out his thoughts for his speech tomorrow and he accidently let his hand with the royal ring rest against one of the candles. I will show you.” She returned a few minutes later with a candle. “See? His ring made quite an impression. Everyone who kisses his ring and pledges loyalty will recognize his ring’s imprint.”
The wise men intended to give the young waitress a good tip for being so helpful but one of the men mentioned to the others that she was blonde. “We would appear to be fools if a blonde woman was given credit for being wise. One of us should get credit”.
They drew lots and the winner went to the king and reported the good impression regarding the wax. Unfortunately, this occurred while the king’s ratings were low and he was desperate to make a good impression on his subjects. The king had the wise man beheaded. Dead men tell no tales, and the king claimed credit.
From then on, wax images of the king’s ring were used to stamp his decrees and sent around the kingdom. All the people who saw the wax stamp on the royal decrees agreed they represented the king. The impressions were very clear. But it was not until centuries later, after videos, recordings, and other evidence could be compiled, that presidents, kings, and other politicians were proven to always tell the truth. At least that’s the impression they want to give.
May 27, 2017
Posted in bravery, fear, humor, inhumanity, People, Uncategorized
Tagged impression, king, truth, victories, waitress, wise men
Beat the drums! Let the trumpets blast!
Actors ramble across the world’s stage,
What an ensemble! What a cast!
We are standing on the precipice of a new age,
History in the making as we turn another page.
I stepped up and paid my fee,
Hoping the play would seem real.
I got more than I bargained for,
And yet I’m getting a raw deal!
In so many languages our secrets were globally shared.
Step right up and get the latest news,
The drama, the lies, the action…
As if anyone really cared.
I think I’ll turn the TV back on,
The world news is ready to begin.
But no, I hesitate, it seems like the same news again.
As for the truth, he’s doing what? To who? Why? And when?
While others stand and shake their heads,
Don’t they know lying is a sin?
I’ll be sad when the play is over,
The fireworks will light up the sky.
But if those aren’t real fireworks,
There will be no time to sit and cry.
May 17, 2017
Bitter is the residue
Left when one expects something better.
Bitter are the words
Left after exchanging truth for lies.
Bitter is the look
That expresses how someone really feels.
Bitter is not better
because it will never satisfy.
Bitter words, bitter tastes, bitter looks,
Are often used to replace love and sweetness,
Bitterness survives when hope dies
and in small quantities adds up quickly,
Leaving a sour taste and smell,
A victory from hell.
May 8, 2017
He didn’t want to go to see the lawyer. He already knew the results of the will. All the money he expected from his uncle’s estate had been given to his uncle’s friends and to various charities.
It wasn’t fair. George had endured all the stories his uncle shared with others. George always laughed and pretended to enjoy them. The stories were dull and meant nothing although his uncle repeated them often.
Who cared whether his uncle really was nice? George didn’t, but no one could really know. It didn’t show.
The bitter truth was beginning to sink in. His uncle was brain washed. It had to be. George could see his uncle’s face, smiling and sweet. He was gone but George would get his uncle’s money. The charities didn’t need it. There would always be poor people. No one should take what was rightfully his. If he didn’t win, he would be bitter for the rest of his life.
That thought made him smile. He had to win.
May 8, 2017
My life has been a series of dark shadows,
behind smiles while avoiding truth.
Why should I have exposed my heart,Or stand my ground,
When others were around?
They could sacrifice their lives. But not me!
There was too much to do and see.
I hid from love, I hid from bullies.
I protected my friends. I had their backs
But I did not stand up for what was right.
I’m still alive and still hiding in plain sight.
My life is an open book,
Maybe you should take a look, before you condemn.
My voice grows louder,
Because my heart knows what is right.
I am exposed in plain sight,
And in the crush of crowds,
I want to shout out loud,
And talk about truth and sacrifice,
And about love. Always.
May 7, 2017
Posted in bravery, fear, love, People, poetry, Religious, Uncategorized
Tagged exposed, hiding, love, sacrifice, truth