I miss that house
Its backporch view
The double-car garage
The patio cookouts too
I wish I was there
The winter nights we went
without any gas
We slept in one small heated room
while Oklahoma Natural Gas #&%@ed us in the...
I wish I was there
Oh I wish I was there
And it’s been prayed for me by a dear friend who knows these things
That I feel lost because maybe I am
And that it is G-d that finds us on our way
We need not look
And I wonder what this recovery will look like
What will be these ramifications
What will be those repercussions
Will I be walking at Colfax and Grant
when a wayward used Hemingway book knocks me on the head?
Because it happens
Ow
But what if that’s what it is?
What if that’s exactly what it is?
When G-d finds me
I do not want it to result in any significant brain trauma
I just want to be there when it happens
I don’t need for my life to change that much
or yours either
I just need to be there when it happens
Just really wanna be there when it happens
Saturday, April 30, 2011
Spades
No
It’s important to name injustice where you find it
No
It’s essential to point out its damages
We grow dull should we stand too idle
No
It’s important to stand by
No
It’s important to feel the ground you walk
to heed the rhythm and flow
Even if you seem to be in the midst of a time-lapsed video
The traffic lights swirling around you
The moon completing a perfect 180° arc before you can get only a few feet along
Yes
Call a spade a spade
Yes
Call me out where I have wronged you
But do forgive me
But do give me the benefit
of the doubt
of the confusion
of the suspicion
of the dis-ease
of the question
But do let me help you to look for other tools to dig our way out
before soon all we see are spades
they’re not all spades
I don’t want for all you to see are spades.
It’s important to name injustice where you find it
No
It’s essential to point out its damages
We grow dull should we stand too idle
No
It’s important to stand by
No
It’s important to feel the ground you walk
to heed the rhythm and flow
Even if you seem to be in the midst of a time-lapsed video
The traffic lights swirling around you
The moon completing a perfect 180° arc before you can get only a few feet along
Yes
Call a spade a spade
Yes
Call me out where I have wronged you
But do forgive me
But do give me the benefit
of the doubt
of the confusion
of the suspicion
of the dis-ease
of the question
But do let me help you to look for other tools to dig our way out
before soon all we see are spades
they’re not all spades
I don’t want for all you to see are spades.
Junkyard goats and a one-eyed cat were our hosts...
...myself and the Sledge
but there was Terry too.
“Would you be trying to fuck me...?”
he recounted to me his conversation with the internet service
that wanted, for a small continuous fee, to list his automotive repair shop
in an online local business directory
Local being Eads, CO
And had the Sledge and I counted on her Isuzu breaking down on a Sunday afternoon pilgrimage
to the remote plains
where Col. Chivington had once proven himself to be
a madman, an idiot, and a murderous sonofabitch forevermore
We would not have been graced by this robust slice of Americana
Journeying city pilgrims can only find such
riding in style
atop an on-call tote truck
into a village closed for the day
But the goats
the eerie
eerie
goats
with their junkyard habitat
so content to stare at us
all the while instinctively maintaining pace with us as we moved casually
the grace
the choreography on their part
safe to say we were one with the goats in that moment
“We don’t get many visitors out this way,”
I was convinced I heard one of them say in our language
(because make no mistake: they had their own)
but it might have been the cat
who was well-cared for save the fact that one of its eyes was
gone
and only recently
Never mind how we could tell how recently
nor how we knew that it wasn’t much longer for this world
despite its personable demeanor
and apparently insatiable wish to just touch us
(which sadly was quite unacceptable to us)
As I called home to warn that I would be home neither for church nor the Lost series finale
The former Col. Sledge did her best to accommodate and confirm Terry’s UFO concerns
This slice of Americana was
in the end
quite good to us
as we of the city all imagine and hope in such situations
trading in the same currency as us
the fiscal kind and
the humanity kind
But that they took an out of town check was especially appreciated
Repairs completed, we gave our thanks and made our way
The Sledge urging me to make some last minute covert photography
as if we would ever forget
but just so we would be believed
and so we would too
The distance we made
did not diminish the weighty stare of junkyard goats
but there was Terry too.
“Would you be trying to fuck me...?”
he recounted to me his conversation with the internet service
that wanted, for a small continuous fee, to list his automotive repair shop
in an online local business directory
Local being Eads, CO
And had the Sledge and I counted on her Isuzu breaking down on a Sunday afternoon pilgrimage
to the remote plains
where Col. Chivington had once proven himself to be
a madman, an idiot, and a murderous sonofabitch forevermore
We would not have been graced by this robust slice of Americana
Journeying city pilgrims can only find such
riding in style
atop an on-call tote truck
into a village closed for the day
But the goats
the eerie
eerie
goats
with their junkyard habitat
so content to stare at us
all the while instinctively maintaining pace with us as we moved casually
the grace
the choreography on their part
safe to say we were one with the goats in that moment
“We don’t get many visitors out this way,”
I was convinced I heard one of them say in our language
(because make no mistake: they had their own)
but it might have been the cat
who was well-cared for save the fact that one of its eyes was
gone
and only recently
Never mind how we could tell how recently
nor how we knew that it wasn’t much longer for this world
despite its personable demeanor
and apparently insatiable wish to just touch us
(which sadly was quite unacceptable to us)
As I called home to warn that I would be home neither for church nor the Lost series finale
The former Col. Sledge did her best to accommodate and confirm Terry’s UFO concerns
This slice of Americana was
in the end
quite good to us
as we of the city all imagine and hope in such situations
trading in the same currency as us
the fiscal kind and
the humanity kind
But that they took an out of town check was especially appreciated
Repairs completed, we gave our thanks and made our way
The Sledge urging me to make some last minute covert photography
as if we would ever forget
but just so we would be believed
and so we would too
The distance we made
did not diminish the weighty stare of junkyard goats
Friday, April 29, 2011
Awkward white prayer in an awkward awkward place
God be with me
in the nervous pounding of my heart
in the shortness of breath
which I don’t really mind so much--
courage is a cardiopulmonary exercise after all
God be with me
in the difficult conversation ahead
in the admission I must make
that injustice is still a very nerve-wracking matter
no matter how much you talk about it
but my complicity within it
is a terrifying one
God be with me
Let me speak nothing but the truth
For I don’t think my brother from the margin is very interested in hearing about things I don’t really know about
and other speculations prompted by my ethnic guilt
He grants me audience that I’m not sure I deserve
Thank you God
that there is still
he and I
both of us who we are
where we are
and all that makes us
still
after all that
somehow able to speak to one another
God be with me now in the hearing
in the nervous pounding of my heart
in the shortness of breath
which I don’t really mind so much--
courage is a cardiopulmonary exercise after all
God be with me
in the difficult conversation ahead
in the admission I must make
that injustice is still a very nerve-wracking matter
no matter how much you talk about it
but my complicity within it
is a terrifying one
God be with me
Let me speak nothing but the truth
For I don’t think my brother from the margin is very interested in hearing about things I don’t really know about
and other speculations prompted by my ethnic guilt
He grants me audience that I’m not sure I deserve
Thank you God
that there is still
he and I
both of us who we are
where we are
and all that makes us
still
after all that
somehow able to speak to one another
God be with me now in the hearing
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Cacophony
We were trapped
caught in that horrific purgatory for night owls
captivated before paid programming
That guy that once sang for that marginally successful band
and that woman that...
appeared to have some connection with what they were talking about
convincing us that the power rock ballads of the 70s and 80s
were the absolute apex of human creativity
more and more so with each successive loop
(Whitesnake and Night Ranger in the same collection you say?)
Transfixed
and Dazzled
by the nostalgia of a youth that...
wasn’t...really ours...ever
But nonetheless titillated
and tantalized
they mean the same thing
by the rolling credits
by a series of endless promotional clips from yesteryear
unearthed for this
sewn together in a rock-ous montage
of hair
light headbanging
emphatic fist-pumping
and a meticulously edited orchestration
of cacophonic climax
Yes, we could pay the $119.96 for all 9 discs in the collection
That would be better than the infomercial how...?
(For Kit)
caught in that horrific purgatory for night owls
captivated before paid programming
That guy that once sang for that marginally successful band
and that woman that...
appeared to have some connection with what they were talking about
convincing us that the power rock ballads of the 70s and 80s
were the absolute apex of human creativity
more and more so with each successive loop
(Whitesnake and Night Ranger in the same collection you say?)
Transfixed
and Dazzled
by the nostalgia of a youth that...
wasn’t...really ours...ever
But nonetheless titillated
and tantalized
they mean the same thing
by the rolling credits
by a series of endless promotional clips from yesteryear
unearthed for this
sewn together in a rock-ous montage
of hair
light headbanging
emphatic fist-pumping
and a meticulously edited orchestration
of cacophonic climax
Yes, we could pay the $119.96 for all 9 discs in the collection
That would be better than the infomercial how...?
(For Kit)
Monday, April 25, 2011
Sandstorm
There is an old myth I got into my head a long time ago
About how a sandstorm whipped into West Texas
on the day I was born
I don’t really know how true it is
If my mom is to believed
the storm was not that remarkable
but as she was preoccupied in a delivery room
for more than a few hours that day
I tend to take her interpretation with a grain
(it couldn’t be that giving birth for the third time
made a sandstorm pale by comparison)
What better credibility can one’s own genesis get
than being heralded in by the wind and the earth?
Maybe this is why I feel so at home with severe weather
Maybe this is why I want to be outside in the springtime
when the air gets thick with a lukewarm stillness
clouds mount
sky turns peach
sky turns green
sky turns the alarming color of a deep bruise
But for better or worse, I’m not alarmed
And I have to fight a mighty urge to go out and greet it
Because maybe I brought it here
Like a pilgrimage of remembrance
it makes its way back to me
Don’t misunderstand:
I don’t think I’m the center of any universe
But perhaps this storm and I are old friends
and maybe it heralded in a few others in its time
and it now has lots of friends it’s come to see
I could wonder why a storm would have any such attachments to people
But I can well imagine that storms aren’t as choosey about their friends as I am
One Creature is as interesting to it as another
Maybe the storm’s a complete asshole
Bent on nothing but wreaking havoc on our churches, our airports,
our trailer parks
but I doubt it
Were it one to process and respond to complaints
it might point out that it received none
not ‘til we started covering the ground
(and I mean covering)
with all our shit
Maybe it just comes back to check in occasionally
Bringing with it whatever elements it meets along the way
Just to remind me
You were part of this from the start
And you still are
To this you all return
About how a sandstorm whipped into West Texas
on the day I was born
I don’t really know how true it is
If my mom is to believed
the storm was not that remarkable
but as she was preoccupied in a delivery room
for more than a few hours that day
I tend to take her interpretation with a grain
(it couldn’t be that giving birth for the third time
made a sandstorm pale by comparison)
What better credibility can one’s own genesis get
than being heralded in by the wind and the earth?
Maybe this is why I feel so at home with severe weather
Maybe this is why I want to be outside in the springtime
when the air gets thick with a lukewarm stillness
clouds mount
sky turns peach
sky turns green
sky turns the alarming color of a deep bruise
But for better or worse, I’m not alarmed
And I have to fight a mighty urge to go out and greet it
Because maybe I brought it here
Like a pilgrimage of remembrance
it makes its way back to me
Don’t misunderstand:
I don’t think I’m the center of any universe
But perhaps this storm and I are old friends
and maybe it heralded in a few others in its time
and it now has lots of friends it’s come to see
I could wonder why a storm would have any such attachments to people
But I can well imagine that storms aren’t as choosey about their friends as I am
One Creature is as interesting to it as another
Maybe the storm’s a complete asshole
Bent on nothing but wreaking havoc on our churches, our airports,
our trailer parks
but I doubt it
Were it one to process and respond to complaints
it might point out that it received none
not ‘til we started covering the ground
(and I mean covering)
with all our shit
Maybe it just comes back to check in occasionally
Bringing with it whatever elements it meets along the way
Just to remind me
You were part of this from the start
And you still are
To this you all return
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Abraham: Close Call - (response for Easter 2011 liturgy)
When the boy asked me
“Where is the lamb?”
I almost felt like chuckling
because there was a punchline here
so morbidly profound
so unbelievable
and I knew it would turn out how...?
I didn’t know.
I doubted.
I doubted as I cut the wood.
I doubted on the first day
I doubted on the second day.
As I looked up to the mountain, I doubted.
The entire distance we set out...?
Yep--doubted.
Every excruciating inch of every torturous mile.
I doubted.
Do you suppose that it was easy to worship with the boy?
Do you imagine that it was easy loading the wood on the boy’s back?
“God himself will provide...” I said to him--as his parent
but I didn’t know.
Then I realized we still had yet more of a walk ahead of us
and so much more doubting to be my companion.
And I think it might have occurred to the boy somewhere along the way that this was actually a trail trodden in our time
by many firstborns before him
From which they usually don’t return.
Most gods we find ourselves worshipping require such things.
Most gods we worship don’t bat an eye when the blood of innocents is offered
and they certainly never stop once you’ve offered just one.
But then most gods aren’t much for the outlandish promise
of a child to a couple in their old age
Most gods wouldn’t bother allowing me to negotiate and haggle
how many righteous people among the wicked it would take
to demonstrate an all-consuming redemptive grace
for a people so seemingly and completely lost
In fact, whenever most gods are asked to establish a precedent for their justice
I’m pretty sure the answer does come in the way of
the shedding of more blood
Wouldn’t we all prefer silence in that case?
And so, because I had some intimate clue about this god
that this god might somehow be different than the others
the ones that don’t take as kindly to things like ‘doubting’
this is why I even bothered doubting at all.
But I didn’t know.
And I doubted to the very moment that I reached out my hand
to take the knife
and the angel told me to stop.
To this time
I don’t know which one of us was testing the other more.
“Where is the lamb?”
I almost felt like chuckling
because there was a punchline here
so morbidly profound
so unbelievable
and I knew it would turn out how...?
I didn’t know.
I doubted.
I doubted as I cut the wood.
I doubted on the first day
I doubted on the second day.
As I looked up to the mountain, I doubted.
The entire distance we set out...?
Yep--doubted.
Every excruciating inch of every torturous mile.
I doubted.
Do you suppose that it was easy to worship with the boy?
Do you imagine that it was easy loading the wood on the boy’s back?
“God himself will provide...” I said to him--as his parent
but I didn’t know.
Then I realized we still had yet more of a walk ahead of us
and so much more doubting to be my companion.
And I think it might have occurred to the boy somewhere along the way that this was actually a trail trodden in our time
by many firstborns before him
From which they usually don’t return.
Most gods we find ourselves worshipping require such things.
Most gods we worship don’t bat an eye when the blood of innocents is offered
and they certainly never stop once you’ve offered just one.
But then most gods aren’t much for the outlandish promise
of a child to a couple in their old age
Most gods wouldn’t bother allowing me to negotiate and haggle
how many righteous people among the wicked it would take
to demonstrate an all-consuming redemptive grace
for a people so seemingly and completely lost
In fact, whenever most gods are asked to establish a precedent for their justice
I’m pretty sure the answer does come in the way of
the shedding of more blood
Wouldn’t we all prefer silence in that case?
And so, because I had some intimate clue about this god
that this god might somehow be different than the others
the ones that don’t take as kindly to things like ‘doubting’
this is why I even bothered doubting at all.
But I didn’t know.
And I doubted to the very moment that I reached out my hand
to take the knife
and the angel told me to stop.
To this time
I don’t know which one of us was testing the other more.
Thursday, April 21, 2011
30 pieces
30 pieces for every kid put in the system
their parents not quite grown themselves
so like Frankenstein with his own baggage
but possibly we even more careless with our roles in creating
30 pieces for every girl and woman
forced to make a choice
because we were too embarrassed to have “the talk” with her
and gave her every impression other than that she would still have
a place at our table
no matter what
what have we chosen...?
(it’s never too late to start, by the way)
30 pieces for every immigrant jailed
because his family could no longer make a living from the corn
that NAFTA could sell for a lot cheaper
(is it really “free” if it’s not working for everyone...?
...because it’s not)
30 pieces for every indian killed
assimilated by greed and displaced
their families and their stories all lost
(many of us are the descendants of foster children)
30 pieces for every white person
driven to forget all of that
the bloodshed that initially got his land deeded
the slave labor that got it ‘developed’
the relationships that it made sense to sacrifice
(the feel of the ground under his bare feet
still crying out that you don’t have to do that
and I really wish you wouldn’t)
all that
30 pieces
for all that
forgotten...
Four bucks a gallon is a small price to pay
their parents not quite grown themselves
so like Frankenstein with his own baggage
but possibly we even more careless with our roles in creating
30 pieces for every girl and woman
forced to make a choice
because we were too embarrassed to have “the talk” with her
and gave her every impression other than that she would still have
a place at our table
no matter what
what have we chosen...?
(it’s never too late to start, by the way)
30 pieces for every immigrant jailed
because his family could no longer make a living from the corn
that NAFTA could sell for a lot cheaper
(is it really “free” if it’s not working for everyone...?
...because it’s not)
30 pieces for every indian killed
assimilated by greed and displaced
their families and their stories all lost
(many of us are the descendants of foster children)
30 pieces for every white person
driven to forget all of that
the bloodshed that initially got his land deeded
the slave labor that got it ‘developed’
the relationships that it made sense to sacrifice
(the feel of the ground under his bare feet
still crying out that you don’t have to do that
and I really wish you wouldn’t)
all that
30 pieces
for all that
forgotten...
Four bucks a gallon is a small price to pay
Tuesday, April 19, 2011
thunder
Thunder
can happen any Spring day in central Oklahoma
-and that’s what I thought it was that morning that my mother very well might have gone to the federal building to get a new social security card, though didn't-
But
God willing
is it actually a downtown-ravaging bomb
only once
in my lifetime
or anyone else’s
Amen.
can happen any Spring day in central Oklahoma
-and that’s what I thought it was that morning that my mother very well might have gone to the federal building to get a new social security card, though didn't-
But
God willing
is it actually a downtown-ravaging bomb
only once
in my lifetime
or anyone else’s
Amen.
Content
There is something about which
a group therapist in training camp is always warned
-whether it be with teenagers
or adults
almost all of whom
turn into teenagers when they get together
usually always-
(No
All of them)
(No
Always)
There is content
and
There is process
Take care not to be too fascinated by the content
lest you are so absorbed by it
that it informs you
of nothing
There is a prevailing theology
proffered by Western Individualist common sense
and championed by unscripted dramatic television
infiltrating even the most well-intentioned
of imbalanced dogmas
that says, “Fuck the process.
Did you see what that content did to me?”
Neither’s altar
should we spend too much time
kneeling down
For my own part
concerning my own expensive
and accredited indoctrination
of the content:
I can’t say enough about the content
Oh
for the content!
I say with no pretense:
I loved every bit of it
A hundred percent
Wouldn’t change a thing
I love everything that school
and its content
did for me
It was rich
It was transformational
earth-shattering
It was nothing I wanted
and everything I needed
It was instrumental in informing me of everything I find
absolutely
unequivocally
insufficient
about the content
And the process
(i.e. lack thereof)
left everything to be desired
I’m still working this one out.
a group therapist in training camp is always warned
-whether it be with teenagers
or adults
almost all of whom
turn into teenagers when they get together
usually always-
(No
All of them)
(No
Always)
There is content
and
There is process
Take care not to be too fascinated by the content
lest you are so absorbed by it
that it informs you
of nothing
There is a prevailing theology
proffered by Western Individualist common sense
and championed by unscripted dramatic television
infiltrating even the most well-intentioned
of imbalanced dogmas
that says, “Fuck the process.
Did you see what that content did to me?”
Neither’s altar
should we spend too much time
kneeling down
For my own part
concerning my own expensive
and accredited indoctrination
of the content:
I can’t say enough about the content
Oh
for the content!
I say with no pretense:
I loved every bit of it
A hundred percent
Wouldn’t change a thing
I love everything that school
and its content
did for me
It was rich
It was transformational
earth-shattering
It was nothing I wanted
and everything I needed
It was instrumental in informing me of everything I find
absolutely
unequivocally
insufficient
about the content
And the process
(i.e. lack thereof)
left everything to be desired
I’m still working this one out.
Friday, April 15, 2011
overmused
The problem with reading Dylan Thomas
is that any two consecutive lines of his stanzas
could themselves constitute a poem
The problem with reading Mary Karr
is that I’m afterward somewhere internally bleeding
and must first tend the wound before I can process
The problem with reading Wendell Berry
(not unlike being a guitarist watching Tommy Emmanuel play)
is that the bastard already said it, and oh so much better
what now?
And Rusty told me
keep reading Eliot whether you understand him or not
because he has a way of getting into your unconscious
The problem with reading any or all of them
is that I wanna keep reading and reading
to the point I almost
almost
don’t want to let their work do what it’s supposed to do for me
which, I think
rather than just reveling in the experience of their gift
is to pay something forward
is to get the hell out of the way
and let the new thing do its thing
is that any two consecutive lines of his stanzas
could themselves constitute a poem
The problem with reading Mary Karr
is that I’m afterward somewhere internally bleeding
and must first tend the wound before I can process
The problem with reading Wendell Berry
(not unlike being a guitarist watching Tommy Emmanuel play)
is that the bastard already said it, and oh so much better
what now?
And Rusty told me
keep reading Eliot whether you understand him or not
because he has a way of getting into your unconscious
The problem with reading any or all of them
is that I wanna keep reading and reading
to the point I almost
almost
don’t want to let their work do what it’s supposed to do for me
which, I think
rather than just reveling in the experience of their gift
is to pay something forward
is to get the hell out of the way
and let the new thing do its thing
Tuesday, April 12, 2011
Surface
COLD
And my hand lunged out
reaching for a surface to grab
My head emerged quickly once it did
The air forced its way back into my lungs with a quite violent gasp
My heart suddenly aware, as if not before, of its relationship to adrenaline
Winter day Y2K and 1
I was daring the ice to support me
(I was daring everyone and everything to do so)
when the footing gave way beneath
Was I...
☒ suicidal?
☒ bored?
☒ having faith enough to believe I could walk on water?
☑ age twenty-one?
My eyes beheld the surface about
It was the same as a moment before when I dropped
But I was not
and so it looked a little different
I do not advocate such a radical communion with the elements as this
for anyone else
This was my foolishness (the understated kind) to bear
Nor do I deny what almost happened
and what did happen
I went out to the dock really just seeking a reed shaking in the breeze
I came out with an instant baptism-resurrection cocktail
I crawled off the dock
I returned to the earth
Gradually relearning breath and footsteps, all the way to the hot shower several yards in the distance
myself and the ground I was to walk thereafter with a new understanding
And my hand lunged out
reaching for a surface to grab
My head emerged quickly once it did
The air forced its way back into my lungs with a quite violent gasp
My heart suddenly aware, as if not before, of its relationship to adrenaline
Winter day Y2K and 1
I was daring the ice to support me
(I was daring everyone and everything to do so)
when the footing gave way beneath
Was I...
☒ suicidal?
☒ bored?
☒ having faith enough to believe I could walk on water?
☑ age twenty-one?
My eyes beheld the surface about
It was the same as a moment before when I dropped
But I was not
and so it looked a little different
I do not advocate such a radical communion with the elements as this
for anyone else
This was my foolishness (the understated kind) to bear
Nor do I deny what almost happened
and what did happen
I went out to the dock really just seeking a reed shaking in the breeze
I came out with an instant baptism-resurrection cocktail
I crawled off the dock
I returned to the earth
Gradually relearning breath and footsteps, all the way to the hot shower several yards in the distance
myself and the ground I was to walk thereafter with a new understanding
Monday, April 11, 2011
Guitar
The guitar presented itself to me when I was 15
with a challenge
It had no investment in me one way or the other
I was free to take it up
or not
But the guitar didn’t make its invitation lightly
And it asked only that I take it seriously
Now, this is a rewarding partnership
I’m no prodigy
The guitar never promised I would be
Years on
I’ve worn it in
And it has changed me as well
I clip the nails on my right hand in a very specific way
whether I pick up the guitar to play that week
or not
To clip them indiscriminately feels like dishonoring a covenant
I think in chords
and chord shapes
and alternative chord voicings
root-third-fifth
fingerings
blues licks
tabulations
key transpositions
vocal accompaniments
and bass lines
I feel in sixths
major 7th’s
sus2’s
and resolving relative minors
The calloused tips of my left hand are badges of honor
I think this is what a vocation is supposed to be.
with a challenge
It had no investment in me one way or the other
I was free to take it up
or not
But the guitar didn’t make its invitation lightly
And it asked only that I take it seriously
Now, this is a rewarding partnership
I’m no prodigy
The guitar never promised I would be
Years on
I’ve worn it in
And it has changed me as well
I clip the nails on my right hand in a very specific way
whether I pick up the guitar to play that week
or not
To clip them indiscriminately feels like dishonoring a covenant
I think in chords
and chord shapes
and alternative chord voicings
root-third-fifth
fingerings
blues licks
tabulations
key transpositions
vocal accompaniments
and bass lines
I feel in sixths
major 7th’s
sus2’s
and resolving relative minors
The calloused tips of my left hand are badges of honor
I think this is what a vocation is supposed to be.
Friday, April 8, 2011
Ode to that couple on the couch at Stella’s making out and on the verge of heavy petting...
Oh couple on the couch
Don’t mind me
And the five other people in the room
To be fair: I’m the only one whose direct field of vision you’re in
I was trying to decide which movie to catch later
But this is just as well
And twenty-five cents cheaper to boot
I’m trying not to be too callous
Certainly I’ve been compromised by a good comfy couch before
I’ve been on that very couch
I’ve also fallen in love there
It’s that comfy
If it could talk...
It would probably learn not to
Watch that laptop, buddy
It’s about to fall off her...
Oh--! He’s quick!
But if the occasional and consistent awkward glances their way
by those of us in the room without a date
Will not deter them from hormonal stupor
Why should the threat of a falling portable electronic device?
No
Back at it
One of these days I will finally have the nerve
To continue gawking even after they’ve noticed
that I’ve stopped everything that I’m doing
just so they don’t have to
And in that magical instant
they will know by my expectant facial expression
and my motioning hand gesture
saying let’s keep this rolling folks...don’t stop now...
that the creeper and the creeped are mutually edified by one another
and also quite indistinguishable one from the other in this context
just a public way of saying “thank you” for their publicness
Don’t mind me
And the five other people in the room
To be fair: I’m the only one whose direct field of vision you’re in
I was trying to decide which movie to catch later
But this is just as well
And twenty-five cents cheaper to boot
I’m trying not to be too callous
Certainly I’ve been compromised by a good comfy couch before
I’ve been on that very couch
I’ve also fallen in love there
It’s that comfy
If it could talk...
It would probably learn not to
Watch that laptop, buddy
It’s about to fall off her...
Oh--! He’s quick!
But if the occasional and consistent awkward glances their way
by those of us in the room without a date
Will not deter them from hormonal stupor
Why should the threat of a falling portable electronic device?
No
Back at it
One of these days I will finally have the nerve
To continue gawking even after they’ve noticed
that I’ve stopped everything that I’m doing
just so they don’t have to
And in that magical instant
they will know by my expectant facial expression
and my motioning hand gesture
saying let’s keep this rolling folks...don’t stop now...
that the creeper and the creeped are mutually edified by one another
and also quite indistinguishable one from the other in this context
just a public way of saying “thank you” for their publicness
Thursday, April 7, 2011
HERE is where you are
says the sign
with absolutely no affect
FYI only
and I would actually prefer a more mocking tone, so I could spit back
That place
we try so hard to avoid
between the courtesy emails of rejection
or the phone calls that never come
that is the subject of so many human interest stories on public radio
The “winter period”
That though you are physically healthy
and keep some semblance of a routine
That though you keep yourself in good company
and know there are many elsewhere that have got it a lot worse
There’s a certain bitch subjectivity
with which you can negotiate
only so much
Kinda’ difficult for a privileged white guy
Those two graduate degrees were worth it
But not for this
There are pangs in the morning
Anxiety loves vulnerability
First thing at dawn
There is labored breathing
That heralds a cycle
Optimism and self-defeating thoughts
There is screaming at God
for selling me on this American Dream
(oh, wait...)
There is uncertainty
There is doubt
Hesitancy
Conviction
Grief
Prayer
Disappointment
Belief
Struggle
I will not get out of this without some sustained injury...(and blessing...)
I find scratching my head helps.
with absolutely no affect
FYI only
and I would actually prefer a more mocking tone, so I could spit back
That place
we try so hard to avoid
between the courtesy emails of rejection
or the phone calls that never come
that is the subject of so many human interest stories on public radio
The “winter period”
That though you are physically healthy
and keep some semblance of a routine
That though you keep yourself in good company
and know there are many elsewhere that have got it a lot worse
There’s a certain bitch subjectivity
with which you can negotiate
only so much
Kinda’ difficult for a privileged white guy
Those two graduate degrees were worth it
But not for this
There are pangs in the morning
Anxiety loves vulnerability
First thing at dawn
There is labored breathing
That heralds a cycle
Optimism and self-defeating thoughts
There is screaming at God
for selling me on this American Dream
(oh, wait...)
There is uncertainty
There is doubt
Hesitancy
Conviction
Grief
Prayer
Disappointment
Belief
Struggle
I will not get out of this without some sustained injury...(and blessing...)
I find scratching my head helps.
Tuesday, April 5, 2011
The Chore
Once a week
Comes my night
And I approach it with the same trepidation
regardless of the previous week’s success
Back in the day
of self-imposed solitude
nearly every night
some boiled pasta
some heated mixed veggies straight from the can
some chicken boiled straight from the frozen package
would suffice
(putting the opened can straight on the stove burner
saves a dish from having to be washed, FYI)
it sufficed
like crazy
Then seminary
Community called to reinstate me
I moved in with three fellow journeyers
one of whom a package deal with two youngsters
all with tastes a bit more discerning
and with a premised intent
of contributing to a shared meal
once a week
I slid by
on mom’s best of handwritten recipes collection
bestowed and bound in an index card book
when I moved out
where would I have been without
the Campbell’s tutorial of 15-min. preparations
Soon
The raw culinary talents within my midst
luckily including some mad asian attitude
gave some implicit empowerment
to learn the sacrament of the herbs and the spices
to veer from the recipe just slightly
And when wanting for some new inspiration
lamenting that I didn’t share my housemates’ genius
Sharitylee very matter of factly demystified the secret:
“Dude...internet.”
And unwilling to yield from my very public childhood feud with the bulk of the Onion family
I began a very powerful alliance with garlic
And where the script calls
for green onion...
clove of garlic
red onion...
another clove of garlic
scallions
ummm--garlic
yellow onion
seriously?
there is such a thing?
I hear no complaints
(Well...Jeff. But he hates garlic.)
When it’s been long enough
I revisit mom’s best of
because this doesn’t work
unless you bring everything about you
into it
Again, no complaints
(Well...Marcy. But she’s from Minnes-oh-ta
and not used to the Texas spicing.)
The chore is like community
The chore is community
Gets easier as you keep at it
Then it gets hard again
Then it gets easier again because you can’t not keep at it.
Comes my night
And I approach it with the same trepidation
regardless of the previous week’s success
Back in the day
of self-imposed solitude
nearly every night
some boiled pasta
some heated mixed veggies straight from the can
some chicken boiled straight from the frozen package
would suffice
(putting the opened can straight on the stove burner
saves a dish from having to be washed, FYI)
it sufficed
like crazy
Then seminary
Community called to reinstate me
I moved in with three fellow journeyers
one of whom a package deal with two youngsters
all with tastes a bit more discerning
and with a premised intent
of contributing to a shared meal
once a week
I slid by
on mom’s best of handwritten recipes collection
bestowed and bound in an index card book
when I moved out
where would I have been without
the Campbell’s tutorial of 15-min. preparations
These applications were met with some acclaim
Soon
The raw culinary talents within my midst
luckily including some mad asian attitude
gave some implicit empowerment
to learn the sacrament of the herbs and the spices
to veer from the recipe just slightly
And when wanting for some new inspiration
lamenting that I didn’t share my housemates’ genius
Sharitylee very matter of factly demystified the secret:
“Dude...internet.”
And unwilling to yield from my very public childhood feud with the bulk of the Onion family
I began a very powerful alliance with garlic
And where the script calls
for green onion...
clove of garlic
red onion...
another clove of garlic
scallions
ummm--garlic
yellow onion
seriously?
there is such a thing?
I hear no complaints
(Well...Jeff. But he hates garlic.)
When it’s been long enough
I revisit mom’s best of
because this doesn’t work
unless you bring everything about you
into it
Again, no complaints
(Well...Marcy. But she’s from Minnes-oh-ta
and not used to the Texas spicing.)
The chore is like community
The chore is community
Gets easier as you keep at it
Then it gets hard again
Then it gets easier again because you can’t not keep at it.
Monday, April 4, 2011
Inspiration Commonly Overlooked
There are
no doubt
tried and true musical theater geeks out there
who cringe
at the sound of me and R.J. in the dining room
trying to do work
between pounding out a dissertation
sending out another resume
brewing the next pot of coffee
comes a misremembered fragment of a verse
sung to a vaguely recollected tune
and consistently botched meter
but oh the rhyme
“She’s nothing like the rest of us
that Belle!"
The H.D.L.‘s new Home Theater in a Box
Wedow’s latest Blue Ray DVD acquisition
(Disney’s BEAUTY AND THE BEAST
if you must know)
Coody and Dave bring the enthusiasm
for the trivia game included on Disc 2 of Special Features
Grad School residential community activities are truly a team effort.
‘Tis no imposition
to have the opening number
stuck in our heads these three days later
No
Half the fun now
is allowing the lyrics to be misremembered
(a commonly overlooked form of inspiration)
Consequently, we now have half of the Iliff Spring Follies written.
no doubt
tried and true musical theater geeks out there
who cringe
at the sound of me and R.J. in the dining room
trying to do work
between pounding out a dissertation
sending out another resume
brewing the next pot of coffee
comes a misremembered fragment of a verse
sung to a vaguely recollected tune
and consistently botched meter
but oh the rhyme
“She’s nothing like the rest of us
that Belle!"
The H.D.L.‘s new Home Theater in a Box
Wedow’s latest Blue Ray DVD acquisition
(Disney’s BEAUTY AND THE BEAST
if you must know)
Coody and Dave bring the enthusiasm
for the trivia game included on Disc 2 of Special Features
Grad School residential community activities are truly a team effort.
‘Tis no imposition
to have the opening number
stuck in our heads these three days later
No
Half the fun now
is allowing the lyrics to be misremembered
(a commonly overlooked form of inspiration)
Consequently, we now have half of the Iliff Spring Follies written.
Sunday, April 3, 2011
h & b & i
to me
they give the gift of themselves
friendship borne
across culture
across orientation
gender
sexuality
does it sound difficult?
you might be amazed how much the contrary
we and they
lived a year together
they
quickly picking up
on all my delightfully eccentric predictabilities
and extending every invitation of fellowship
in exploration of community
music jams, sing alongs,
painting with bob ross
and the foothills of the rockies
i
benefitting
from their authenticity
humanity
--a regular haircut from h--
and model of reckless
selfless love to one another
which couldn’t but help to spill over to all around them
now then--
to them
the state of colorado
where they currently happen to reside
owes the right
for their relationship to be legally recognized
because they honor the “institution”
with more integrity
than the “institution” ever could know how
for it is not so shallow a description
as an “institution” for them
so much as a very fact of their joined existence
and on the day
that six individuals of an unnamed political party
deemed such a measure
to “end this most successful civilization”
we celebrated b’s spring break
and completed preparation of a student art show
with successive trips
to schlotzsky’s, bonnie brae, stella’s,
denver folklore center, and the pearl st. grill
while not exactly a ‘non-issue’ for them
it’s not a question that would distract them
from an otherwise beautiful day
for which they’ve seen fit to include me
and so
for me too
there is no discussion
there is no question
there is no legislation
adequate to reflect the complexity
of how good it is not to be alone
for god created them
male, female, and everything in between
and it is good
and you will not
ever
-i do not say this lightly-
ever
convince me otherwise
they give the gift of themselves
friendship borne
across culture
across orientation
gender
sexuality
does it sound difficult?
you might be amazed how much the contrary
we and they
lived a year together
they
quickly picking up
on all my delightfully eccentric predictabilities
and extending every invitation of fellowship
in exploration of community
music jams, sing alongs,
painting with bob ross
and the foothills of the rockies
i
benefitting
from their authenticity
humanity
--a regular haircut from h--
and model of reckless
selfless love to one another
which couldn’t but help to spill over to all around them
now then--
to them
the state of colorado
where they currently happen to reside
owes the right
for their relationship to be legally recognized
because they honor the “institution”
with more integrity
than the “institution” ever could know how
for it is not so shallow a description
as an “institution” for them
so much as a very fact of their joined existence
and on the day
that six individuals of an unnamed political party
deemed such a measure
to “end this most successful civilization”
we celebrated b’s spring break
and completed preparation of a student art show
with successive trips
to schlotzsky’s, bonnie brae, stella’s,
denver folklore center, and the pearl st. grill
while not exactly a ‘non-issue’ for them
it’s not a question that would distract them
from an otherwise beautiful day
for which they’ve seen fit to include me
and so
for me too
there is no discussion
there is no question
there is no legislation
adequate to reflect the complexity
of how good it is not to be alone
for god created them
male, female, and everything in between
and it is good
and you will not
ever
-i do not say this lightly-
ever
convince me otherwise
Saturday, April 2, 2011
Air
I was naked in the mirror just yesterday
and I was suddenly reminded I was born with a congenital defect.
I hadn’t thought about it in sometime
Generally not thinking about it that much at all anymore.
(It doesn’t bother me to take off my shirt as much
as once it did.)
So, I did what I do a lot lately when I rediscover something from childhood
that I haven’t thought about in a long time:
I googled it.
What should I find
but Q&A Forums
You Tube videos
A Facebook page
(It has a Facebook page)
some photos
of some very severe cases of others with the condition
-cringeworthy-
It has a Latin name
Of course it has a Latin name
and oh the factoid repository Wikipedia
And all these symptoms I might otherwise never have known
But one of them does seem a likely enough story in my case:
the words “diminished” and “capacity” beaming out
with white hot intensity
And just enough of one You Tube testimonial resonates
...just enough...
to make me think
son of a bitch
So this is why I occasionally get lightheaded when I get up too quick
So this is why I oversleep
So this is why I have ADHD
without the ‘H’
So this is why I have to put in just that tiny little extra effort
to make sure my voice is projecting well enough
I do hate to be heard mumbling
Sure I remember the trip to the kid hospital
and the x-rays
when I was little
I didn’t wanna go to school that day anyhow
The doctors seemed unconcerned by the results
sent us on our way
I think I got candy out of the deal
And my common sense and moral compass
which always come in the form of the company I choose to keep
remind me:
Yeah, but don’t you oversleep because you’re a night owl?
Don’t you just really like sleep?
Whenever you mumble, we presume you’ve just slipped back into your native Texan dialect.
Don’t you do cardio like everyday?
Didn’t you run that 12K last spring without any incident?
So what if you’re a little ADHD...
...okay, yeah, actually maybe you oughta’ have that one checked out...
Perhaps and Perhaps Not
Definitively certain on that one
and not so much on the other
As we all know
there are known knowns and there are known unknowns
But to those who can live life abundantly
with the corrective surgery
(and as have the means)
then by all means
But to those of us who can do without for the time being
be reminded of what we should all be reminded:
Every now and then stop
and take all the air you need
while you can.
and I was suddenly reminded I was born with a congenital defect.
I hadn’t thought about it in sometime
Generally not thinking about it that much at all anymore.
(It doesn’t bother me to take off my shirt as much
as once it did.)
So, I did what I do a lot lately when I rediscover something from childhood
that I haven’t thought about in a long time:
I googled it.
What should I find
but Q&A Forums
You Tube videos
A Facebook page
(It has a Facebook page)
some photos
of some very severe cases of others with the condition
-cringeworthy-
It has a Latin name
Of course it has a Latin name
and oh the factoid repository Wikipedia
And all these symptoms I might otherwise never have known
But one of them does seem a likely enough story in my case:
the words “diminished” and “capacity” beaming out
with white hot intensity
And just enough of one You Tube testimonial resonates
...just enough...
to make me think
son of a bitch
So this is why I occasionally get lightheaded when I get up too quick
So this is why I oversleep
So this is why I have ADHD
without the ‘H’
So this is why I have to put in just that tiny little extra effort
to make sure my voice is projecting well enough
I do hate to be heard mumbling
Sure I remember the trip to the kid hospital
and the x-rays
when I was little
I didn’t wanna go to school that day anyhow
The doctors seemed unconcerned by the results
sent us on our way
I think I got candy out of the deal
And my common sense and moral compass
which always come in the form of the company I choose to keep
remind me:
Yeah, but don’t you oversleep because you’re a night owl?
Don’t you just really like sleep?
Whenever you mumble, we presume you’ve just slipped back into your native Texan dialect.
Don’t you do cardio like everyday?
Didn’t you run that 12K last spring without any incident?
So what if you’re a little ADHD...
...okay, yeah, actually maybe you oughta’ have that one checked out...
Perhaps and Perhaps Not
Definitively certain on that one
and not so much on the other
As we all know
there are known knowns and there are known unknowns
But to those who can live life abundantly
with the corrective surgery
(and as have the means)
then by all means
But to those of us who can do without for the time being
be reminded of what we should all be reminded:
Every now and then stop
and take all the air you need
while you can.
NaPoWriMo
April is national poetry writing month, and I've taken up the challenge from my friend Richard Russeth (I'd tag his blog here, but I don't know how to do that yet) to write a poem everyday. I figured that's something I've wanted to get back into and, as my other lenten disciplines are a bit lackluster this year, why not...? It's my understanding that posting them is optional. As I'm a bit out of practice in both poeming and blogging, I may exercise the option not to some days. We'll see.
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