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- The Mountain Ridge
i rode the wings of the osprey from the shore
as we had learned of the skirmish that was about to be;
soaring overhead, we looked down to see:the redoubts were in the valley
at the foot of the mountain;
the cannons were on the mountain ridge.the men on mountain
chewed on twists,
spitting the dark amber fluid
on the dirt creating dark puddles of mud;
puffed and gnawed on cigar butts;
sported scraggly beards,
wore long duster overcoats,
armed with heavy long swords,
flintlock pistols,
Bowie knives;
they fought among themselves
for entertainment
until
they stood by their cannons
with cannonballs and barrels of powder
by their side;below, young men in the redoubts
looked warily upward,
naive but resolute
unsure,
shaven,
wearing flannel shirts,
suspendered canvas trousers
tucked into leather work boots
under broad brimmed hats,
holding their hoes, axes,
occasionally, a musket.the young women were in a glen
further up the valley
taking care of their farms,
tending the gardens,
reaping the crops,
gathering eggs from the chicken coops;
milking the cows,
pumping the milk churns for butter,
gathering together
while abhorring war.in the dense woods behind the rocky ridge,
unbeknownst to the men on the mountain
or the young men in the valley,
wild things began to gather quietly:
mountain lions, grizzly bears, even bobcats
were not pleased with someone
treading on their mountain.the men on the mountain
retired early with plans
to light off the cannons before dawn
to wipe out the redoubts, killing the young men
before claiming the canyon as their own.when they were asleep, the wild things
crept from the woods, slew the sentries,
then wiped out the men in their tents;the din was heard in the redoubts below;
the young men were perplexed with wonder;
the next morning, they only saw the silent cannons
sitting on the precipice of the mountain ridge
except in the predawn light,
they spotted a grizzly bear on the ridge
walking by the cannons on the ridge.After several days of quiet
with no one stirring on the ridge,
the young men convened;
they dismantled the redoubts,
returned to their women in the glen;
they agreed not to ascend the mountain
to discover what happened
on the ridge beyond the woods. - Easter…once more
I did not take photos. It seemed out of place to me.
But i did walk up to the top of my hill, watched the sun rise over the eastward mountains. Then, i turned around and looked out to the Pacific horizon. The sea was a dark gray. The rising sun infused the sky with a blue that would become intense azure. The white and thinly gray wisps of marine layer clouds would vanish soon.
It was cool.
i considered what the Pacific meant, and what it might have meant to Magellan as he crossed it hundreds of years ago. Peace hung in the air around me as i paused and bowed my head.
Memories flooded my thoughts. Lebanon, Tennessee. 1950s, probably actually 1950, because i was six in my memory. If so, it was April 9th. The pastors of many of the city’s churches stood on the steps of the now razed McFadden Auditorium. The metal chairs, i remember them as white, were neatly aligned in rows on the grass. The sun shone brightly. It was 7:00 a.m. CST, not sunrise. Yet it was still cold. My mother was dressed in her finest pink suit with a pillbox hat, much like the other women there. My father was in a suit and tie, hatless, also like the other men filling the seats. i was in my easter suit, i remember seersucker, with shorts, white socks and white shoes. The shorts are strikingly clear in my mind because my exposed thighs felt as if they were frozen onto the cold metal of the chair’s seat.
Above all, i remember feeling his presence, this guy who was born a half-century shy of two thousand years before. Peace. Yes, peace was there, more felt than the sermons, the prayers, or the hymns in that small city, seventy-six years ago. It did not matter my mother was pinching my bottom in a effort to stop wriggling atop the cold of the chair. i felt his presence there.
It was there this morning. Peace.
i shall not go into religion, quote the bible, or wonderful words of great philosophers. My brother Joe is the man for that, and if you haven’t read some his stuff, you should. He can move you.
i’ll just note that amidst the rantings of war and money and hate and fear, i stood on that hill this morning with the rising sun at my back, looked out over the Pacific and felt peace as it should be. It matters not, i think, what you believe in your religion or denial of religion. If you pause, you can feel him. You can feel peace.
Thank you, Jesus.
- Jacob’s Law
To err is human; to blame it on someone else is even more human.
- Two Poems (sic) and a Whine
Preface Whine:
The two poems included here have been bouncing around in my head in one form or another for about six months. Two nights ago as i was attempting to go to sleep, they came front and center into my sleepy brain almost in their entirety. They are in keeping with my being a curmudgeon.
The first one, “Titans” is not, not specifically about Trump, although he certainly fits this mold from my perspective. It is more a comment on many, if not all of our political, corporate, and military leaders, not just in our country, again from my perspective. With our leaders today, we need less ego and more humanity. Period.
Titans
titans roar,
but
it’s all inflated ego,
bluster;
titans kill,
but
only kill those who are not in their class,
perceived in a lower caste,
better, more human folks;
titans scream
but
always down,
never up;
titans manipulate their followers
to believe
lies;
titans don’t have a clue
as to what they are doing
except to make themselves
feel more powerful
and
that is a lie to themselves.Sins
i loved my sins;
i pursued them with perverse abandon,
“but,”
as Wayon Jennings intoned,
“i’ve never intentionally hurt anyone;”
now,
my sins are verboten:
the phalanx of do-gooders along with the medical cadre
poke me, measure me, smell my urine (or something),
take my blood, check my stability, hah,
dictating i shouldn’t drink
or cuss,
or look at women who are not my own
even if there is no intention of evil on my part,
or
eat anything i like to eat
or
go where i want to go
or
run with the wind
or
sail the seas
or
slalom down a brilliant white trail,
or
dive for a line drive at shortstop,
or
swing a bat driving the ball
down the left field line for a double
or worse,
not allow me to put on my pads
and
tackle the runner cutting through the line,
hitting his gut with my shoulder,
driving him into the ground:
oh, what a glorious feeling
gone.Post Script Whine: After watching for several years, i have determined that folks who back into parking spaces rather than going in forward as designed, are afraid to back out slowly and carefully because they are bad drivers. And most of them prove that when they block traffic while backing, turning, going forward, and turning again, taking inordinate time while blocking the traffic lanes for those who are good drivers and park in spaces going forward.
- Shirley’s Law
Most people deserve each other.