Continuing typing out the journals. This journal is numbered #19. It was originally written in 2008. The typing out was done in 2024.
Sky Force Poem
You see me in church often.
I look out for my parents.
And love my friends.
I’ll treat you with respect and decency,
but, the truth is,
I bow before God alone,
and the wind is my only friend.
Poem
Sue’s House on the Hill
My old ticker,
my old heart,
will flicker to life,
and then she’ll start.
Pull the cord on the ten horse,
once or twice.
She comes alive,
and throttles down nice.
A mouse has the run
of the kitchen at night.
Stare at the stars from the stairs.
I’m growing gray hair, and really don’t care.
The market has gone to the bears.
What can I do, telephone Sue?
Another big bottle of wine.
The Dow has crashed, let’s get trashed.
I’m still walking the line.
Is a shingles vaccine a new roof on the house?
Are we going to live off the land?
Are mushrooms and grass considered cash crops?
We should be making a plan.
How old is the water that runs in the streams?
How old are the trees on the hill?
The songs of Woodstock, remember the dream.
It lives within us still.
A great gray stone, teeters on the brink.
Which way is it going to fall?
New ways, new life, and difficulties,
changes will come to all.
And now Obama ascends the throne.
They swear him in ,in two weeks.
Spring will come, we’ll launch our boat,
and pray the hull has no leaks.
Tragedy or victory?
What does the future bring?
It’s up to you and me, my friend.
and the songs we choose to sing.
I pray the fish keep hitting.
The deer and the turkey breed strong.
Brothers embrace in confident peace,
singing a beautiful song.
Melody, harmony, awaken the song.
It lives within us still.
As does smoke, our spirits rise,
at Sue’s house on the hill.
It may not be much, but it’s all we got.
Throw another log on the fire.
Life is life, and now is now.
The flames are dancing higher.
The Advent candles all burned down.
Our carols have all been sung.
We’ve drank and feasted well,
The Christmas bell have rung.
Now the dead of winter is upon us.
Within us, hopeful hearts.
This spring, a new beginning.
Surely a new page starts.
And so, the smoke of incense rises.
As the dreams within us still.
Pass the bread, and peace to all,
at Sues house on the hill.
Pour the wine, and love to all,
at Sues house on the hill.
Rhyming Fun
Lord of might,
send light,
this night.
Help us fight,
through blight and plight.
From Heaven’s height,
send light so bright.
In these lives,
please find delight.
Today, I pray,
send sun’s bright ray.
Guide us to
thy saving way.
Ring out, ring out,
oh steeple bells.
Across the rivers, and the dells.
Ring out, ring out,
the saving song.
Guide us,
as we walk along.
Angels present.
Heaven’s guide.
Please stay close
to my side.
Oh Heaven hear me,
heed my call.
God’s truth sent
to one and all.
Jesu, Jesu,
send the flame.
New wine, new birth.
one holy name.
Boy and girl,
young and old.
welcome to
this saving fold.
Let the saving flames
descend.
Touching now,
life without end.
May the circle
course and turn.
The love of God
within us burn.
Let us change
our world today.
Let us bow our heads,
to pray.
Yes we can walk
the saving path.
Protected from
the day of wrath.
Let the Holy Fire fall.
Bless the lives of one and all.
Let the Holy Fire fall.
And bless the lives of one and all.
For the Richardson Commission
Living on the West side,
my best prayer is that my old house
won’t get torched.
Living on the Westside,
my wish is that my van
won’t get stoned or stolen.
Living on the West side,
I deeply hope
not to be invaded by gunmen,
my apartment trashed,
my body harmed.
You must agree with me,
that we deserve more,
much more.
Should I not flourish,
in my gardening?
Should I not flourish
as I work as an artist,
in my music,
and writing?
As a concerned and involved citizen,
In my family relationships and friendships?
Should not our houses
be brightly painted, warm and dry?
Ginger bread porches, lined with shelves,
whimsical and beautiful toys, jewelry, arts and crafts.
Created by the artists living within?
A cheery and welcoming place,
with shoppers and strollers, and cheerful buyers.
Wake up. Join me.
This is not about a few people
amassing great wealth.
It’s about healing an ailing city,
house by house by house,
life by life,
street by street,
family by family.
It’s about folding our hands and praying.
Lifting an instrument and playing.
And learning that busy hands
lead to freedom,
will build a new world.
Learning to pray
will set you free.
Thought by thought,
day by day.
The World System
I am writing here to expose, to show clearly, how society teaches us corrupt systems of thought. One is hardly aware of this indoctrination into faulty belief and behaviors.
First, I will discuss the mental ranking system. We are taught to judge a person and the value of their life by external measures. Simply put, a person is valued by wealth, station, and physical appearance. Things like honesty, patience, and humility are often completely disregarded.
Next, I’d like to note the predatory attitude often held by businessmen. A business person often exacts more for his goods and services than what is necessary and fair. A person in business will take as much as is possible, and give as little in return as possible. Not regarding moderation, or the financial state of the one with whom business is done. A greedy attitude does not observe the charity that allows life to on. This greed is often considered “business as usual”.
Thirdly, sexual innuendos, or double entendre, are taught from youth. Sexual undertones and overtones underlie every conversation. This is subtle vulgarity.
These three things are instilled from childhood. Mental ranking, predatory attitude, and sexual innuendo. But all of these things can be rejected. One can choose purity. We have free will.
And here I’d like to note on the topic of civil disobedience. Sometimes breaking the law is the good and right thing.
Stay home,
stay warm,
stay fed,
stay dry.
Good morn,
good man,
good night.
Bye Bye.
Essay 1-19-10
My friend Sue visited for dinner tonight. Her presence inspired some insights.
She and I have been practicing yoga, separately. We agree that it is beneficial practice. I am going to attempt to explain what happens in yoga.
Yoga, by definition, is the union of mind, body and spirit. It is causing reality to morph, in a positive way, through the sacrifice of application. It is mind bending reality into something better.
It is prayer for a new world. It is peaceful revolution. It is a prayer that is answered.
Sue and I began to discuss today’s gardening movement. A question is presented. Is there something holy about growing one’s own food, cooking one’s own food, baking one’s own bread?
For one thing, it forces one to step away from the TV and computer. And then it causes one to be more aware of the cycles of nature. One sees his or her dependence on t he natural order. Temperature, light, winds and rain.
Food means dependence on weather.
Weather is dependent on natural cycles.
Natural cycles are ordained by God.
Then Sue remembered something from our last conversation, months ago. I commented on how our youngest sister, on her last trip home, showed up at Mom’s with a pack of posted notes. It was her intention to start claiming things from Mom’s house. I thought she was way out of line.
Sue contributed that Mom might feel good about giving things away, while she still has control to see who gets what.
Prose written for Bob’s 50th 2010
It was on one of our trips, with the family, up to Lake Kiwassa, in the Adirondacks. We all got settled in, unpacked, and organized. The food and wine were great, the ambience wonderful, and the weather perfect. But the darn fish wouldn’t bite.
I got back to the dock after dark, still no fish on the stringer, sitting dejectedly in the boat. As I pouted and pondered my failure, a strange light began to glow from the porch, way up at the cabin. Suddenly, I began to feel a surge of hope. What could this be, a sign, an oracle.
I found myself walking toward the light, getting brighter and brighter with each step. Climbing the stairs, I reverently and cautiously tip toed to its source. And what did I see? There was Bob, napping in the Adirondack chair, an empty wine glass on its arm rest. He must have been having a good dream, as his head was softly aglow, and his snoring gentle. In his snoring I heard the words, “zzzz touch my forehead zzzz”. “Zzzzz touch my forehead zzzz”. And so I did. I touch his forehead.
White powder spouted out of his ears in a huge whoosh, gradually settling on the furniture and the floor. I stood there for a moment, wondering what this all meant. Then the idea hit. I swept up as much of the powder as I could, it filled three little medicine bottles. And Bob never woke up through all this.
I could hardly sleep that night, waiting for the next morning. When I did sleep, my dreams were of monstrous fish, and endless adventure.
Morning came. As quietly as possible, I walked down to the boat with all my tackle. Untying the boat, I floated out on to the glassy pond. Now it was time to rig my pole. Opening the tackle box, the three vials of precious powder were there.
I opened a bottle, and poured the essential element into my right hand. Then I blew the mysterious stuff all over my tackle and equipment. I tied on half a night crawler, and made a cast. The offering had barely hit the water when the first fish hit. Dawn had hardly come before my stringer was full. A miracle of miracles, for sure.
Now I have never told Bob about this phenomenal manifestation. It’s not an easy tale to tell. But to think, there are still two bottles of magic left. And untold reserves where these came from.
With it being a special time in Bob’s life, it’s time to share this story. The rest of you need to know.
“This is”, as Paul Harvey used to say, “the rest of the story”.
1-26-10 Essay
When one prays to God, a bridge is formed over which Energy passes. When one prays often, over many years, he or she becomes energized. This energy has many manifestations, including mental, physical, and spiritual well being. And it requires sharing well being with others.
Now suppose I have achieved an energized state. And suppose, that while in this state, I make love to a woman. The energy within passes to this woman. And when it does, a promise passes too. Even if no promises are spoken, the Spirit promises commitment. A bond is created. And when this bond is broken, there is pain. There is always pain. It could be no other way.
Ideally, both partners would have a dynamic relationship with God. So as to not drain energy from the other. Ideally, partners are well matched and like intentioned, that success as a partner is achieved.
Prose. Turning hard toward the light.
Beyond the call of duty.
Clearing obstructions that block the tunnel,
through which the saving light must pass.
Nelson Mandela, Mahatma Ghandi, Abe Lincoln, And Mother Theresa are my role models.
The sons and daughters that go to fight. The mothers and fathers that let them go.
History’s broken and bleeding saints, who have gone beyond duties call. Clearing obstructions that block the tunnel, through which the saving light must shine.
The novice accepting the cloister. The parent working two jobs. The working student. Jesus, bleeding on the cross.
Having to be gone from home for so long, to support the family.
Finding oneself so often carrying so much of the financial burden.
Doing more than ones share of the physical labor. Laboring overseas.
While so many miss it completely, barely getting off the couch and out of their own way.
Those that go over and beyond are the Golden Key.
Those that shoulder the burden are the salvation of the world.
Clearing obstructions that block the tunnel, through which the saving light must shine.
Essay Wed. 10-13-10
I was up at Mary’s, hunting squirrel, on Saturday. I did well, taking several. I cooked it in sauce, and served it to Mom and Dad. It was delightful. Now all these ideas are flooding into my mind. Looking at all the little bones must be mind expanding.
I’m really seeing that certain types of psychic communication are commonplace. People really pick up on where I’ve been, what I’m thinking, and what’s going to happen next. This is, for some, is a usual and ordinary thing. It is, however, not often discussed. It seems to originate in a realm called pre thought, or subliminal thought. It guides the creation of concrete thought. Concrete thought bears heavily on our reality.
We often, in our philosophical musings, ask ourselves what life is. Life is a gift. Learn to live it as such. Learn to sling it. Swagger. Enjoy it. With thanksgiving and praise.
But always remember those in suffering. Help where you can. One is elevated in giving aid to those who suffer.
God’s presence, His sweet peace, is a foretaste of Heaven. “Prethought”, sweet peace, is his presence here.
God foresaw the goodness in some man and women. He saw his eternal self in his created beings. Those who labor in love, beyond the hope of any earthly reward. And so the reward of heaven became part of the great scheme. And hell, then, too.
Dad has a certain shyness that I have inherited. It has been hard for me to overcome this shyness. As old as I am, it is still hard for me to ask a girl out.
Dad is an interesting man. He does not believe in God, nor heaven and hell. He’s almost ninety years old. He’s working on putting his house in perfect repair. Fixing, painting, patching, renovating. He’s stacked several cord of firewood in back. I see he’s privately begun to give financial help to others.
He’s not confessing sins, saying prayers, or giving to the church. There’s a certain transference here, in psychiatric terms. In fixing up the house, he’s making moral reparations. In stacking firewood, he’s storing up prayers in the heavenly storehouse. And so with his good works as well. I’m not saying he’s a sanctified saint, but in his own certain way, there is a preparation for eternity being made here.
I have been learning to pray in tongues. It seems to be a legitimate and important manifestation. However, I have a question. Can one plays in “keys “on an instrument the way tongues is prayed with the mouth.
This whole train of thought is chugging down the track to a certain destination. And that is to say again that I believe in Jesus as my savior. As he was born in Bethlehem on Christmas day, so was he born within my soul. As he walked the earth, so does he live within my life. As God sends his Holy Spirit, so do I thank him, and praise him. At Thanksgiving time, at Christmas. Every day of my life. Let me share this gift, His gift, with you.
11-01-10 Journal
I was staying with Brian Buckley, and his wife, Charlene. I’d made arrangements to stay there for a few days during the whitetail bow season. Brian’s house is a busy, happy, place. With lots of people coming and going.
Brian is interested in Christianity, and often initiates religious discussions. Which, of course, I enjoy, as well. There is something magical about his kitchen table. It does seem that God’s truth is spoken there. He keeps a Bible on a shelf, by the door.
As we were talking over coffee one morning, I reached for and opened the Bible. The words my eyes fell upon seemed to bear a special power. It read, “clear your name, and then take your place amongst these people”.
You see, I have a shaded reputation amongst the folks down this way. I’ve been accused of many things, most of which have never occurred. I did not attempt to clear my reputation, point by point. I did not want to bring it all up again. I simply said, “I have done all things in a decent and forthright way”.
The next morning found us engaged in conversation again. We were talking about having a time of common prayer. The question was of what form should community prayer take? I am Catholic. They are a Baptist family. Where is the common ground? I reached for, and opened the Bible again. My eyes fell upon these words. “You are a common man amongst common people. This is where I placed you. This is where I want you”. That special Bible, at that special table, was serving as an oracle. Printed words were bent into a message just to me.
The next morning was my last. It was time to go home. In conversation, I attempted to make arrangements for my next visit. I thought we had a clear understanding. We had a written agreement. I’d given them money. But Charlene got really nervous when I talked about coming back. I opened the Bible again. It was on the table in front of me. It read, “contend not with these people. Your help will come from another place”.
That was almost two weeks ago. I sent them a letter yesterday, asking if I can come down at the end of the week. I’ll call tomorrow. I left on good terms. We decided we’d ‘play it by ear”.
I had a few deer in close. No shots fired. I do like having venison in the freezer. We’ll see how it goes.
11-25-10 10:20am. Journal Entry
Thanksgiving morn. The entire family is gathered at October Lane. Thirteen are sleeping here. On the cusp of new life, it seems. Let us see, if through coming change, the entire aura remains intact.
Greeting cards, children’s books, a move to the mountains. I look to impacting this world for Christ. To leaving my mark upon this world.
This is a family, community effort. We must work in concert.
Mom and Dad are aging. This house will be sold. My knees protest the effort of the gardening business.
Day by day, I discern my path.
12-29-10
The deer season ended well, with a harvest of three deer. I set up my van to live and hunt out of. Charlene became anxious at the thought of my staying at Buckley’s through the season. But hunting out of the van worked well.
I Illuminated and warmed the van with candles in the cup holders. And I lit a catalytic heater to drive out the cold. Sleeping in a heavy nest of blankets until the morning sun melted ice off the windows got me into the woods a little late each morning. But good fortune smiled, and deer were killed.
I am in New York City as I write. I brought venison for Sue and Sandy. We’ve been here, now, for a full week. We had flights scheduled home yesterday. However, our plans were changed as Mother Nature and Old Man Winter conspired together to gift us with a blizzard. Everything was shut down. The city is still digging out. It took us four hours to get to the airport. And when we finally got there it was confusion, chaos, and anger. All flights were cancelled. We were forced to return to Bob and Sandra’s, where we are staying. Flights were rescheduled. We’ll try again Saturday.
This last year has brought some interesting changes. I’ve been focused more on prayer, meditation, and yoga. I’ve been writing less, and have not done any visual work since last March. It is not unusual for me to wait until winter to do visual projects. But the part of my mind from which writing originates has been quiet, and mostly free of ideas. And that’s ok, as I’m developing greeting cards, and children’s books based on work already completed.
Poem 4-13-11
April’s Warm Sun
Beyond the divinity
of the garden,
see the blessedness of every flower.
To take a spring trout into your hands,
and see its wondrous markings.
Days lengthen.
Redwing blackbirds call.
The gray brown doe
births spotted fawns.
April’s warm sun on my shoulders,
creating Halleluiahs in my mind,
and all around.
As we prepare each bed
for summer’s glory.
Spring has finally broken,
and life force floods my soul.
The life infusing essence
in every ounce of soil,
every drop of rain,
and wink of sun.
Earth is my bride.
Together we beget flowers and fathers,
waters and daughters.
Yes, the sun sends warmth and light,
Yes, the Earth receives.
As warming light is Godfather,
of very seed that grows.
AND IN THAT INSTANCE
I AM SAW HIS REFLELCTION,
SAID HIS NAME,
AND THE UNIVERSE
WAS BORN.
Poetry
I wrote a couple poems for my brother in law Dana’s 50th birthday celebration. To honor the day.
Dana, Dan,
mountain man.
Also known as Bobcat Sam.
Deep in the heartland
has his home.
the woods and hollows there to roam.
Snaring out coyotes, coon and cats.
Possum, beaver, water rats.
Lands a fish, when luck allows,
by the shore, ‘neath willow bows.
At home awaits his wife, named Jude.
She rubs his back, and warms his food.
And puts up with skinning shack,
stretching beavers, out in back.
Then off to the woods,
with trap and snare.
to catch a bobcat by his lair.
Off again with snare and trap,
coat and boots, pack and cap.
Whistling up money,
however he can.
It’s not easy,
being mountain man.
But he always finds a way,
a way to bring on home the pay.
Like a hubby, and Daddy, and Papa should,
He sided on the side of good.
He always, always finds the path.
See the history, do the math.
Come home sweetie, take a bath.
Evade wife Judy’s wrath.
Sarah, Anna, daughters kind,
Sweetest gals you’ll ever find.
bless your heart,
and peace of mind.
And now Sarah’s got a loaf in the oven.
(She and her Luke have done some lovin’).
So Dana’s to be a grandpa soon.
I hear him whistling a happy tune.
A little guy to help catch the coon,
under the full bright Harvest moon.
And yes, he’s known to pray and bless.
And preach the Word in holiness.
While his anger is violent storm,
his heart of hearts is kind and warm.
The power of fire,
deep within.
With light above,
let light begin.
Make a difference
with your life.
Love God, your neighbor,
kids, and wife.
Fifty years, now, on his side.
It’s been one hell of a ride.
Let’s celebrate Dana here, today.
A friend who chose the life, the way.
Yes, let me raise my glass.
And not let this occasion pass,
to celebrate my brother, friend.
Festive greetings here I send.
May you be given fifty more.
With friends and family at your door.
With health and wealth, and peace and love.
Abundant blessings from above.
Yes, let all good things reign.
Unbroken ring, a wreath, a chain.
To love, to life, to you, my friend.
May good things be, life without end.
Yes, let all good things reign.
Unbroken ring, a wreath, a chain.
To love, to life, to you, my friend.
May good things be, life without end.
And, as if one poem isn’t enough, here is a second piece to celebrate Dana on his 50th Birthday.
Bobcat Sam
There is a man back in the woods,
known as Bobcat Sam.
Huntin’, fishin’, trappin’ fur,
He’s livin’ off the land.
He’s built himself a trapper’s shack,
a cabin made of logs.
By the mountain meadow,
past the swampy bogs.
He rises every morning.
Grabs his coat and gun.
Trackin’ panther, wolf and bear,
until the setting sun.
Sniffing out coyotes,
bobcats, bear and coon.
With two hounds named Sam and Blue,
under rising moon.
Bobcat tracks in the snow,
lead right to a lair.
A good spot to hide a trap,
and carefully hang a snare.
The bears know Sam by his walk.
Sam knows the bears by name.
Possum, beaver, water rat,
Sam’s walk, his life, his game.
Fishin’ on the river,
for cats and bass and bream.
The rainbow, brook, and browny,
from the mountain stream.
A coat is sewn of buckskin.
His clothes of fur, his fame.
To fish, to hunt, to wander deep.
Bobcat Sam his name.
