We'reallconnected
Momandad keep busy
upgrading theirhouse
offloading possessions
maintaining their health
waiting for an apartment
to be vacant so they can movein.
Scottandawn will try to visit
Momandad soon and help
keepup the yard
sort the things to takealong
perhaps bringback something
they want to give up.
Abeandzoe are doing fine
with workandschool
their manyfriends
and their cats
in their ownapartments
in their owntimeframe.
Annandfred, Jeanandbarney, Peteandcindy, Maryjo
have youngadultchildren too
in schoolandwork
some with kidsoftheirown
with housestomaintain
property to divest
allintransition.
Thursday, April 12, 2012
Wednesday, April 11, 2012
Monday, April 09, 2012
Napowrimo Day Nine
What is a poem?
Is it the rhythm of inhaling and exhaling
while taking a step to the right or left
to find a place of balance here and now,
to test the ground and have a leg to stand on?
Is it left brain sifting particles of data
and right brain riding the wave of the moment
in a cryptic dialog navigating through shadows
toward safe transport to somewhere else?
Is it a symbiosis of equal and opposites,
part making and part beholding,
both push and pull, gather and spread,
like cooking and eating or traveling and being there?
Is it instrumental, therapeutic, and useful,
a way to live with disappointment and heartache,
or is it autotelic, ecstatic, pointless, and sweet,
neither this nor that? Clearly not this.
Is it the rhythm of inhaling and exhaling
while taking a step to the right or left
to find a place of balance here and now,
to test the ground and have a leg to stand on?
Is it left brain sifting particles of data
and right brain riding the wave of the moment
in a cryptic dialog navigating through shadows
toward safe transport to somewhere else?
Is it a symbiosis of equal and opposites,
part making and part beholding,
both push and pull, gather and spread,
like cooking and eating or traveling and being there?
Is it instrumental, therapeutic, and useful,
a way to live with disappointment and heartache,
or is it autotelic, ecstatic, pointless, and sweet,
neither this nor that? Clearly not this.
NaPoWriMo Day Eight
Potato pancake, lip smack, newsprint's rustle, coffee's rush,
the angle of the sunshine in the Sunday morning kitchen.
Eventually the creeping phlox migrates from west to east
along a narrow bed on the other side of the fence.
Bake bread, cook a pot of black bean soup, have a banana.
One-handing a spade, weed a strawberry bed before it rains.
Shake off boots, stretch out on the floor, the day's too short.
Broiled salmon, roasted sweet potatoes, asparagus, and wine.
the angle of the sunshine in the Sunday morning kitchen.
Eventually the creeping phlox migrates from west to east
along a narrow bed on the other side of the fence.
Bake bread, cook a pot of black bean soup, have a banana.
One-handing a spade, weed a strawberry bed before it rains.
Shake off boots, stretch out on the floor, the day's too short.
Broiled salmon, roasted sweet potatoes, asparagus, and wine.
Sunday, April 08, 2012
NaPoWriMo Day Seven
Morality Play: Breathe
There are two ways to occupy a space.
Fill it up with as much stuff as possible
Or clean it up, empty it out, strip it down.
These are not mutually exclusive, and
Any sane person would do both, but
Framing the question raises some issues:
How much of your stuff adds to the quality of the space?
How much of the space is used up in containing your stuff?
And how much of the space do you actively inhabit?
Sweep the floor, wipe the counters, nest the bowls,
Open the windows, let the inside air out,
Invite the outside air in, pollen and all.
There are two ways to occupy a space.
Fill it up with as much stuff as possible
Or clean it up, empty it out, strip it down.
These are not mutually exclusive, and
Any sane person would do both, but
Framing the question raises some issues:
How much of your stuff adds to the quality of the space?
How much of the space is used up in containing your stuff?
And how much of the space do you actively inhabit?
Sweep the floor, wipe the counters, nest the bowls,
Open the windows, let the inside air out,
Invite the outside air in, pollen and all.
Friday, April 06, 2012
NaPoWriMo Day Six
(With apologies to Bob Dylan's Just Like Tom Thumb's Blues)
When you're tossed in the midst of Custom Pub and its file release day,
And the editor leaves and creativity hits a contrarian brick wall.
Don't try to game the system when the buyer's in a spat with Design,
Just get the files to the printer and go out to lunch with your team.
Half the players have already checked out of this holiday hotel,
They're making other plans and strategizing their next big deal.
It's on to greener pastures, look at us now beating all our dates,
And unless it's an emergency, don't copy me on any more emails.
What are my plans? Well, I won't be going south as I thought,
Maybe color some eggs, plant some flowers, or go out to eat.
Mom ask if I was going to church, and I said probably not,
But I'm looking at a couple of candidates to see if they fit.
It's a pantheist season of renewal and it's been a few years
Since I've been to meditation at the Buddhist temple downtown,
And the years before that at the universalist country church,
So maybe a congregation or a sangha would do me some good.
My wife and I were riding our bikes by the river and I asked her if
She would join me in some cultural research among the Presbyterians.
We'd visit and observe, go out to brunch, and study the data,
No eggs, no bunnies, and only two wheels on this cycling dharma.
The small-town congregation gave us an education in their ways,
They couldn't have been more friendly in their pastel sanctuary,
With lilies in the windows, brass sextet, angelic harpists, organ, choir,
Although the sermon was heavy handed and inordinately long.
With a table by the water, brunch was a complete success:
The buffet had lox and bagels, fresh melons, lobster mac and cheese,
My date looked great across the table in the gold and silver light,
Our waiter kept refilling our cups, and I wrote this with his pen.
When you're tossed in the midst of Custom Pub and its file release day,
And the editor leaves and creativity hits a contrarian brick wall.
Don't try to game the system when the buyer's in a spat with Design,
Just get the files to the printer and go out to lunch with your team.
Half the players have already checked out of this holiday hotel,
They're making other plans and strategizing their next big deal.
It's on to greener pastures, look at us now beating all our dates,
And unless it's an emergency, don't copy me on any more emails.
What are my plans? Well, I won't be going south as I thought,
Maybe color some eggs, plant some flowers, or go out to eat.
Mom ask if I was going to church, and I said probably not,
But I'm looking at a couple of candidates to see if they fit.
It's a pantheist season of renewal and it's been a few years
Since I've been to meditation at the Buddhist temple downtown,
And the years before that at the universalist country church,
So maybe a congregation or a sangha would do me some good.
My wife and I were riding our bikes by the river and I asked her if
She would join me in some cultural research among the Presbyterians.
We'd visit and observe, go out to brunch, and study the data,
No eggs, no bunnies, and only two wheels on this cycling dharma.
The small-town congregation gave us an education in their ways,
They couldn't have been more friendly in their pastel sanctuary,
With lilies in the windows, brass sextet, angelic harpists, organ, choir,
Although the sermon was heavy handed and inordinately long.
With a table by the water, brunch was a complete success:
The buffet had lox and bagels, fresh melons, lobster mac and cheese,
My date looked great across the table in the gold and silver light,
Our waiter kept refilling our cups, and I wrote this with his pen.
Thursday, April 05, 2012
NaPoWriMo Day Four
Very Superstitious
Stevie Wonder said if you believe in things you don't understand you suffer.
A drummer friend warns that a full moon is coming.
What kind of wild energy will that release?
Yesterday was Opening Day of baseball season.
The late afternoon sun thrown across the room at the rec center.
Feet stand on earth, head touches sky, think space, think body.
Tomorrow is Good Friday, marking the day Jesus was crucified.
Sunday is Easter, recalling the day he rose from the dead.
Passover begins at sundown, celebrating the liberation of the Jews.
The Masters golf tournament takes place this week in Augusta.
To my knowledge there is no tournament called The Slaves.
That would be in poor taste, but hope springs eternal.
Stevie Wonder said if you believe in things you don't understand you suffer.
A drummer friend warns that a full moon is coming.
What kind of wild energy will that release?
Yesterday was Opening Day of baseball season.
The late afternoon sun thrown across the room at the rec center.
Feet stand on earth, head touches sky, think space, think body.
Tomorrow is Good Friday, marking the day Jesus was crucified.
Sunday is Easter, recalling the day he rose from the dead.
Passover begins at sundown, celebrating the liberation of the Jews.
The Masters golf tournament takes place this week in Augusta.
To my knowledge there is no tournament called The Slaves.
That would be in poor taste, but hope springs eternal.
NaPoWriMo Day Five
Does every family have a Golden Child
Whose innate specialness is obvious while
Siblings must step back and admire,
Acknowledge, acquiesce, resent, or revile?
Parents do their best to reconcile,
compensate, rationalize, and deny
that their affection for one is any higher
than for the other without a trace of guile.
The kids will have the last and longest smile,
the firstborn and the second will conspire
over beer and pierogis Ukrainian style
in Manhattan while we toil away in Ohio.
Whose innate specialness is obvious while
Siblings must step back and admire,
Acknowledge, acquiesce, resent, or revile?
Parents do their best to reconcile,
compensate, rationalize, and deny
that their affection for one is any higher
than for the other without a trace of guile.
The kids will have the last and longest smile,
the firstborn and the second will conspire
over beer and pierogis Ukrainian style
in Manhattan while we toil away in Ohio.
Wednesday, April 04, 2012
NaPoWriMo Day Three
Don't confuse the map with the territory,
the credits with the movie,
or the title with the house.
You might know every inch of the map,
memorize the credits, have your name on the title;
that doesn't make it your place, your movie, your house.
But if you walk the property,
suspend disbelief, sit through the movie,
and inhabit the house, you own it with your body.
Don't judge a book by its cover,
a snack by its packaging,
or a suit by its designer label.
But if you're paid to make labels,
manage files, transfer titles,
design covers, make bookmaps,
or package the snack in all its cheesy goodness,
by all means take it seriously, just don't
spend all day in the flat screen two dimensions.
the credits with the movie,
or the title with the house.
You might know every inch of the map,
memorize the credits, have your name on the title;
that doesn't make it your place, your movie, your house.
But if you walk the property,
suspend disbelief, sit through the movie,
and inhabit the house, you own it with your body.
Don't judge a book by its cover,
a snack by its packaging,
or a suit by its designer label.
But if you're paid to make labels,
manage files, transfer titles,
design covers, make bookmaps,
or package the snack in all its cheesy goodness,
by all means take it seriously, just don't
spend all day in the flat screen two dimensions.
Tuesday, April 03, 2012
NaPoWriMo Entry Two
Mary was eighty-eight and set in her ways.
Her stepson, my friend, arrived just in time
to pick out the casket and carry out her wishes
for a simple graveside ceremony, before leaving
on his own anniversary trip to a tropical island.
While he was away, the world at home exploded
in color and pine pollen. No rest for the wicked,
dutiful, conflicted son, but a trust for the living.
Nobody plans the distribution of losses,
the unfortunate timing, the strained generations,
though everybody plots a beautiful holiday
to celebrate some future passage in vain.
Her stepson, my friend, arrived just in time
to pick out the casket and carry out her wishes
for a simple graveside ceremony, before leaving
on his own anniversary trip to a tropical island.
While he was away, the world at home exploded
in color and pine pollen. No rest for the wicked,
dutiful, conflicted son, but a trust for the living.
Nobody plans the distribution of losses,
the unfortunate timing, the strained generations,
though everybody plots a beautiful holiday
to celebrate some future passage in vain.
Sunday, April 01, 2012
April is NaPoWriMo
That's National Poetry Writing Month, philistines. So I have taken the bait, said I'm game, and fallen behind two days in. Always a slow learner, late bloomer, and cockeyed optimist that I can make up for lost time. Here entry one:
Before enlightenment,
get a haircut,
go to the bank
and the liquor store,
weed the strawberry bed.
After enlightenment,
get a haircut,
go the the bank
and the liquor store,
weed the strawberry bed.
So I'm told.
Before enlightenment,
get a haircut,
go to the bank
and the liquor store,
weed the strawberry bed.
After enlightenment,
get a haircut,
go the the bank
and the liquor store,
weed the strawberry bed.
So I'm told.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Realignment, part III
The Eurozone clearly is not working out as planned, it might be time to revisit the whole grand plan. Grand plans have a way of doing that, going slightly awry, despite the brilliant schemes and best intentions of the interested parties.
The unintended consequences of making such grand plans and embarking on extraordinary experiments is not a reason not to have big ideas or attempt big ventures. Rather it's an opportunity to rethink the big ideas and remake the big ventures, not necessarily according to the conventional wisdom in Paris, Frankfurt, Rome, or Brussels under which they were conceived.
A modest revision might model the single-currency of the European Union on the other big thing all the Eurozone countries have in common, which is, of course, futbol (soccer). A team (usually a city) plays its way into the upper echelon of competition, recognition, and rewards. The cream rises to the top at all levels, so not only do the best players from every country go to the top teams in the top leagues, but the best teams are elevated to the top leagues.
If Manchester United fails to perform well in the English Premier League, the team will drop down to a lower level league, like a major league baseball player being sent to the minors to regain his stroke, strength, or confidence. If he works his way back into shape pitching for the Toledo Mud Hens, he'll be back with the Tigers in no time.
If American ballteams, and not just players, followed this principle, the cellar-dwellers in the majors would drop to Triple-A, and the Columbus Clippers, or whoever wins the American Association, would rise to the major leagues. A couple of bad years, and the Pirates or Royals might find themselves playing triple-A ball with the likes of Scranton and Charlotte.
Could nation, cities, or banks do this?
The unintended consequences of making such grand plans and embarking on extraordinary experiments is not a reason not to have big ideas or attempt big ventures. Rather it's an opportunity to rethink the big ideas and remake the big ventures, not necessarily according to the conventional wisdom in Paris, Frankfurt, Rome, or Brussels under which they were conceived.
A modest revision might model the single-currency of the European Union on the other big thing all the Eurozone countries have in common, which is, of course, futbol (soccer). A team (usually a city) plays its way into the upper echelon of competition, recognition, and rewards. The cream rises to the top at all levels, so not only do the best players from every country go to the top teams in the top leagues, but the best teams are elevated to the top leagues.
If Manchester United fails to perform well in the English Premier League, the team will drop down to a lower level league, like a major league baseball player being sent to the minors to regain his stroke, strength, or confidence. If he works his way back into shape pitching for the Toledo Mud Hens, he'll be back with the Tigers in no time.
If American ballteams, and not just players, followed this principle, the cellar-dwellers in the majors would drop to Triple-A, and the Columbus Clippers, or whoever wins the American Association, would rise to the major leagues. A couple of bad years, and the Pirates or Royals might find themselves playing triple-A ball with the likes of Scranton and Charlotte.
Could nation, cities, or banks do this?
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