Wednesday, December 14, 2016



I stand exhausted 


I stand exhausted, in this armor of God, 
at my post amid raining mortars.
Helmeted with salvation, Christ-truth 'round my waist, 
listening intently for orders.

Gospel boots stir my aching feet, 
Christ’s righteousness, my heart’s defenses.
Yet circumspectly the conflict rages, 
bitter anguish assails my senses.

He strengthens my left arm, as His shield of faith 
weighs heavier every moment.
He strengthens my right, as the sword of His word 
reproves the popular foment.

We do not war 'gainst men I’m reminded, 
my enemies are not of this earth,
rulers of perdition radicalize the innocent, 
indoctrination begins at birth.

Independence hailed as the puppet monarch, 
self-rule the defended dominion,
Pleasure promoted, and integrity outmoded 
arms fighters with popular opinion.

Anti-Christ generals bark orders of mayhem 
while obscuring themselves in white tents.
They turn brother on brother, daughter against mother, 
anarchy acclaimed as good sense.

I am tired of praise for impudent leaders 
who seek fame by distributing drivel,
with empty prattle they incite to battle 
of a war that is all but civil.

Still stand I exhausted, in this armor of God, 
at my post amid raining mortars.
Helmeted with salvation, Christ-truth 'round my waist, 
listening intently for orders.




He has delivered us from the power of darkness and conveyed us into
        the kingdom of the Son of His love,
                in whom we have redemption through His blood,
                        the forgiveness of sins.

The Christ Hymn


He is the image of the invisible God,
     the firstborn over all creation.
          For by Him all things were created
              that are in heaven and that are on earth,
              visible and invisible,
                   whether
                        thrones or
                        dominions or
                        principalities or
                        powers.
          All things were created through Him and for Him.

And (so)

     He is (indeed) before all things, and
     in Him all things consist.

And (likewise)

He is the head of the body, the head of  the church, (the new creation)
          who is the beginning,
     the firstborn from the dead,
          that in all things He may have the preeminence.

For it pleased the Father (it was decreed) that  
     in Him all the fullness (of God) should dwell, and
     by Him
          to reconcile all things to Himself,
              by Him,
                   whether
                        things on earth or
                        things in heaven,

          having made peace through the blood of His cross. 

Colossians 1:15-20 (NKJV) 

Asked to write a poem in Diminished Hexaverse style.

Diminished Hexaverse is a poem containing stanzas of 5 lines, then 4 lines, then 3 lines, then 2 lines, ending with one word.

The syllables in each stanza correspond to the number of lines, i.e. 5 in each line in the first stanza, 4 in the second stanza and so on. This form may contain more than five stanzas.



Diminished Hexaverse.

The phrase aroused my 
imagination;
Conjured scenes of deep 
exploration in
six faced universe.

But NO, twas not!
Refocused I
Could see my error.
Twas but a tool.

Diminished 
Hexaverse?
Poets pail!

Story
pressed and

scrunched.
The De-Evolution of a FACT

Definition of the word FACT in different presidential races.

1956 Adlai Stevenson II vs. Dwight D. Eisenhower:
fact
(făkt) from the Latin factum; that which is done.
A single indisputable objective expression of reality.
A universal truth verifiable from experimentation or observation.
An event, item of information, or state of affairs existing, observed, or known to have happened, and which is confirmed or validated.
Major sources for facts are religion, history and science.

1976 Jimmy Carter vs. Gerald Ford
fact (făkt) from the Latin factum; that which is…
An objective expression or acceptance of reality.
Any single piece of information that is widely accepted as verifiably true.
A popular truth defendable from experience or observation.
Major sources for facts are history and science.

1996 Bill Clinton Bob vs. Dole:
fact (făkt) from historic English; that which is accepted.
Any single expression that indicates reality, or a strongly held belief.
Something said to have occurred or is credibly supposed to be true.
A meme touted as an evidentiary proof of a thing, event, experience, or situation that is difficult to disprove.
Any statement or statistic promoted to be acceptable because of broad repetition.
The whole part of a “factoid” which is a strategically reduced, less objectionable and less offensive representative constituent of a fact, and which can stand in for a whole fact.
Major sources for facts and factoids are science, personal experiences, focus groups, popular opinions, polls, and the media.


2016
fact (făkt) from vulgar urbanese FACT; what I say.
Any idea or description of something that maintains some popular support.
A subjective and personal expression of something that is insisted upon and stated to be strongly believed.
Any idea, statement, or statistic, or opinion that controls society through intimidation. One which others must support to avoid being negatively labeled and socially disgraced.
A discrete component of a personal virtual reality.
Ideas which concord with a personal identity.
Major sources for facts are personal desire, groupthink, opportunity, convenience. 

Off the grid R&R:

At the top of a long winding dirt road which climbs through dense pine forests sits a small log cabin.

The humble home sits on the high side of a sunny clearing which provided the logs for her sturdy walls and overlooks a crystal clear mountain lake below. The small bright clearing is surrounded by a mixture of hardwoods and old growth conifers pushing their sturdy trunks up out of a thick carpet of khaki brown needles. The surrounding forest is thick, dark, and mysterious as it infuses the crisp air with the clean fragrance of pine. Speaking in hushed voices the trees emanate a constant murmur as the breeze scrapes across the tops of their branches. A cacophony of birds vying for attention mix harmoniously with the subtle sounds of snapping twigs and rustling leaves suggesting the steady movement of unidentified fauna across the forest floor.


The little lake is an inviting dark azure pool springing up from some deep place, depths from where sunlight fails to reveal the secret source of icy water. On the far side, a cascading waterfall splashes down a pile of rocks in a noisy rush to escape to the freedom of a small stream which disappears into the woods. Early in the morning and late in the day the whole surface of the lake percolates from hungry trout feeding on tiny bugs. Guarded by the surrounding sentinel of seasoned trees, the little clearing is covered with sparse grasses and dense clover and looks as if an old wrinkled green blanket had been carelessly flung across the bed of rocky soil, one edge of the blanket having landed in the water at the shore of the lake.


Inside the cabin the musty odor of aging wood combines with the faint smell of smoke, leather, and kerosene from the oil lamps hanging on the walls which serve as the sole source of lighting. Against the back wall is a door which leads to a small bedroom and a simple bathroom. The wide main room serves as living area, dining area, and kitchen all-in-one. An old iron wood-burning stove, used both for cooking and heating, sits on a piece of slate in the midst of the wooden plank floor, off to one side, not quite in the middle of the room, sort of loosely defining three distinct areas. An old leather couch with tape on one arm, and matching recliner take up most of the living area except for a book shelf against one wall holding musty books, old newspapers, and a few other knickknacks. An aging deer head missing one eye hangs on the wall above the bookshelf. Directly across the room, near the largest window stands a very old round wooden dining table with a mostly unfinished top. 4 wooden chairs, none of which match, and two of which are missing back slats, are neatly tucked underneath the table edge. From any seat at the table, the large adjacent window is a live display of the picturesque lake, busy animals, and darting birds. The window also affords a good view of the drive, all the way to the sharp curve in the dirt road to the south east. On top of the stove sits a large rectangular cast iron griddle and a simple coffee pot which you can reach from the table. There is a small solar powered refrigerator next to the large stainless steel sink in the kitchen area. Above the sink is a single shelf on which there are exactly three metal plates, three chipped porcelain coffee cups, and a stainless steel bowl that holds three sets of silverware and a few other kitchen utensils.

Outside the front door, the covered porch hugs the full width of the cabin. The porch intentionally faces east for the best view of the sun as it rises over the misty lake on cool mornings, and graciously shields her occupants from the heat of the sun’s harsh afternoon rays. On the porch, to one side of the front door, there is a large wrought iron rack holding plenty of dry, split, neatly stacked firewood. An axe with a worn wooden handle is lodged in one of the large pieces of wood on the end of the stack. On the other side of the porch is a very comfortable hanging chair which sways gently in the breeze as if motioning a message to passersby, "come, sit, relax, and enjoy a long drink from your surroundings". Beside the chair is a rough-hewn table made from two big logs, just the right size to hold a cup of hot coffee and a generous stack of books.

One could spend many days reading, thinking, fishing, and exploring; always prepared to show hospitality to unannounced company, while never really expecting, or feeling the need for any.

This would be my dream vacation spot.





My Favorite Things:



Raindrops on Rosie's tan whiskied up kittens
Strong smelling kennels that worn wood's been slid-in
The Browns paper backfield with tied up hamstrings
For these tiny blessings my heart gratefully sings.

Cream covered peonies on a greased ample poodles
Dumbbells and  hairballs in pretzels are brutal
White geezers drive while their turn signal blinks
For these things I’m grateful and that’s whats I thinks.

Girders on trusses with sorghum molasses
Cornflakes that stick to my beard and my glasses
Sneaked midnight snowcones melt on my boxsprings
I’m as grateful for these three like turtles with wings

When the day bites, and the beast sings
I get stinking mad
I singly dismember some savory wings

And then I go free Sinbad


Ode to Commode

… Penned on the occasion of a catastrophic split in the toilet tank.

I thee bestow this simple ode;
O’ humble vilipend commode,
While stays the watch and bears the load
Expects no due nor nod bestowed.

Iron horse in porcelain wrapper,
Bright argent lever, raven flapper,
Expiator, refuse trapper,
Yet butt of jokes, is humble crapper.

Rigid stands in ready station
To flush impious execration,
Entitled prigs drop rude donation
Demanding instant transformation.

Tis drought makes water treasured more
And so we must be taught our error.
To prove your plight and even the score
You split that we may sit no more.

We now with clenched knees regret
Our insolence and vow to let
No daily void from bowel emit

Devoid due honor, our fair toilet.