Wednesday, April 29, 2009

Child's View

O child in me 
Remember to 
The joy of virgin
First time my eyes 

Thrill to spy the ocean spray
   moon dictate the tide each day
Dig my toes in seashore surf
    drip sand castles along her turf
Watch the dolphin sail up high
     smile and sparkle in her eye

Heart's delight as snowflakes fall
   excitement hearing coyote's call
In wonderment watch the butterfly
    unfurl her wings at first flight
Hold tight a kite on a string
     feel the pull of wind unseen

O God I pray 
                 I never lose
Eyes to behold 
                  each day as new

december 09, 2oo7

I don't recall in detail what was going through my mind when I wrote this poem, well other than a feeling of simplicity, dolphin smiles, kites, butterflies, and sand castles.

This poem comes to mind now because I turned 50 a couple days ago. I had the thought that day, "I'm entering my 2nd childhood."

I do feel that way, sort of. I have a sense of exploration and discovery ahead. I'm excited about life, about learning, about all the colors of the leaves.

I still have a goal to hike the entire Appalachian Trail before I draw my final breath. I'll hike it in snippets. My son is going to hike a couple sections this summer starting in GA and going into at least TN, perhaps VA.

I hope I always remember to view life, at least at times, through the eyes and heart of a child.

Thursday, April 9, 2009

Approval No Longer the Master

(note:  language warning)

I despise these fucking standards
Decades fed with perfectionism 
I wish I could simply erase
This god-damned approval addiction

Self-blame a constant resident 
Yet, the guilt does not all lie with me

Perhaps it's within the warped standards
Of a false-sterile society

I've grown to detest sterility
Breeding its disease in secrecy
A playground for deception
Murdering individuality

How do I flee this beguilement
Without loosing a ravenous beast
Whose been chained and finally tastes freedom
With a lusting impulse to feast

Upon the cravings denied it
Once starved of the sense to feel
To allow emancipation
Will its hunger therein be healed

Or this insatiable desire to feed
To express without repression
Will it slay that which it needs
And devour its yearned for companion

Nay, if allowed to follow its longing
The famine put out to pasture
This beast will patiently gentle
Approval no longer the master

april 1, 2007

Unrelenting standards are one of the customary fares in a totalistic group. To the group, appearances are more important than the individual. There is to be no hint of error, else the doctrine might be proven as wrong. There is a sickening air of a sterile, emotionless, humanless culture. Seldom are performed tasks good enough.

This perfectionism can stifle creativity and cause one to fear and box their own expression. It can lead to an incessant strive for approval.

There are duties in life that need great precision, such as a carpenter's saw or the surgeon's scalpel or even an artist's pen. But other tasks in life do not require such. Chairs don't have to be straight nor every bed wrinkle smoothed nor every place setting exactly even.

A few months prior to penning this poem I had discovered For me the site was (and is) like a breath of fresh air! To be able to express myself in a public setting was a remarkable step in recovery. Yes, it was scary (and sometimes still is). At the same time it was (is) liberating: to express and to be able to make mistakes, without fear of constant correction (from myself or others.).

The beast is slowly being gentled. However with its gentling, I'd like to not lose its wild side. :-)

btw: I've tried to find another word besides "sterility" to end the first line of verse three. But alas, I fail to find one I like. Any suggestions are appreciated!

Friday, April 3, 2009

significance beneath my sandal

one grain of rock
trampled under
crushed beneath
my sandal

no thought given
to its suffering
for it is
but gravel

yet this pebble
tossed on water
rippled pond
life aroused

one day trampled
no thought given
form concealed

another day
tossed to freedom
bobbing shapes
round and round

march 31, 2007

As I sat thinking one March day, I got an image in my mind of gravel and dirt and what we crush underfoot. I thought of the human condition and that sadly, individuals are too often treated likewise and feel the same; ie: in a crushing under someone's foot they feel "...that their lives are of little worth" (quoting Carole King). At least too often it seems folks feel that way; I know I do.

Yet, one person's words or deeds that may seem so insignificant and small can have a profound effect when tossed upon the fluid landscape of consciousness and culture.

For me, in exiting an indoctrination system/organization where autonomy was often suppressed and stifled, this poem had (and has) deep significance.

Another aspect is something I think about somewhat regularly. That is, whose blood and life has fed the ground underneath my feet? It can cause me to feel small and large at the same time in regard to the expanse and scheme of life.

I believe each person's journey has substance and that us humans behave the way we do for reasons, sometimes unknown even to ourselves.

by Carole King: