Perspective in blue jeans
It seems to me that the times when a man speaks out against injustice are the times that we should celebrate, not condemn that man.
A man picking at the scabs that have formed around the lesions left by an unjust attacker might not be pulling on the wound, he might just be healing it.
It would seem to me, that man, in any other time, and in any other context, might be called a hero.
He might be. If you’re brave enough to call him one.
Sports figures and supermen aren’t real. But warriors are.
May they always have the courage to soldier on.
April 27, 2012 \ Photo Attribution \ For Peter.
Krampas is watching
Through Roofs of Tin
and roofs of thatching
Beware! Beware! Krampus is watching!
Say you’re creeping down yule-tide stair
to spot your gifts 'fore morning's there
and should you see black tufts of hair
Run! Black Peter awaits those who dare
to spoil the joy of holiday's morn.
Corporate greed receives his scorn.
It’s not just children who’d be well to fear
CEOs shiver when Black Peter’s here.
It is their greed that brings the Krampus near
through this holiday and in New Year.
Between the father and the sun
Warm mists fall. Up, the leaves turn.
Skyward looking, I find I yearn
for lazy days of light and love.
A storm is coming from above.
Clouds come roiling, dark falls quick;
the sky bursts forth, the downpour thick.
Pelting rain makes branches droop
and turns the playground into soup.
Rain comes and goes and still no beam
of hope or joy can yet be seen.
When darkness does not soon abate,
a foul end must sure await
those that stand in long of light.
So sour turns this day's sun rite.
The coming of this days delight
seems snuffed by this dark, hurtful blight.
Rain and storm and death and pain
and trees that break and loves that maim.
One might give up: say all is lost--
This despair has too great a cost.
Reminded, am I, by call of wren.
Sun shines above; day comes again.
Let shadow take its course and then
the earth can heal the works of men.
June 21, 2010 \ Photo attribution
Forward to those normal places, normal friends and normal spaces.
Change has come and left its mark; inside you is fire's spark.
It's not back, but onward, see? Thank you for your walk with me.
Eleven years again
When I walk with you again,
I hope my fresh-born heart remembers
our happy Mays and warm Septembers
spent ‘round the fire’s glowing embers.
I will walk with you again,
where the peat meets forrest’s floor.
Your heart’s the key and mine’s the door,
that we may fall in love once more.
I will walk with you, my friend.
I will walk through thick and thin.
I will find you in that place where
our re-born hearts are home again.
May 15, 2010 \ Photo by Robert Paxton
Celebration of a certain group of friends, many of whom I am yet to meet.
A group of strangers, focused and with intentions clear, sets fire to themselves.
Through pain and celebration, they are unified and reborn.
Reset by divine experience, they wobble across the peat and set to returning to the world.
And it is not the same.
As they tear down their village, they are not yet aware that the world around them has changed as well.
A snap. A crack. A puff. And a smolder.
They are strangers no more.
I am searching for another chance at that experience.
Can you bring the fire home? Are you even supposed to?
Or, is there a larger, less personal, purpose to it all.
The answer, my newest friend, may be yes.
Walk with me, and we’ll find out.
The Soft Blue Light of the Season’s Second Yule Moon
Hearty souls, some wrapped in broad cloth and bundled in scarves, caps and mittens, bathed together in the blue light of Yule's second moon.
Lit by her silver glow, the powdered slopes leaned in to catch a glimmer of the light that shown within the circle.
They called, they sang, they laughed, they cried.
Though the winter’s chill crept into their bones, their hearts found warmth in fellowship.
Even in single digit temperatures, they found time to linger.
I’ve posted a few things at various and sundry locations around the internet that I thought it would be fun to call your attention toward.
1. Don’t write much poetry. Publish even less of it. Here’s a poem I posted at scribd entitled “Upon the Passing of my Paternal Grandfather.”
2. Here’s a set of Super Smash Brothers Brawl generated Desktops mixed up with some very basic Photoshop filters. I have no idea what is my legal obligation regarding the license of a piece of artwork created within a videogame. Actually, I suspect that since I have to decode the screenshots via a “decrypter” there’s probably a violation of the DMCA somewhere.
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