The Burdened Bookshelf as Will and Representation (#poem #NaPoWriMo)

full frame shot of shelf
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Each mover, save one Renaissance man
Of fellow feeling, complained of the books
And the bookshelves to display them.
Why would anyone move these thousands
Of miles and from house to house when
They are so obviously rarely used?

But the bookshelves, fully loaded, serve a purpose:

For starters, they tell anyone curious enough to look
Where and how my intellectual development has unfolded.
Second, they show all the languages I have tried to learn,
Even if I have been persistently unsuccessful.
Third, they show where my interest lie in the arts,
Music, history, literature, philosophy, and politics.
Fourth, they show that I’ve reached beyond the narrow
Confines of my family, neighbours, and local sports teams.

If you wanted to understand me, you could get a pretty
Good idea by browsing my bookshelves thoughtfully.
You’ll surely see that I am a person of profound refinement,
A deep thinker who has considered a universe of ideas.

And if you don’t see that immediately, perhaps
You’ve stumbled across some of my wife’s books.

I Wish I Could Believe (#poem #NaPoWriMo)

man holding cross
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The prompt for day 15 is to write a dramatic dialogue. I think I failed, but here it is, anyway.

I wish I could believe in God.

It’s a free country. Believe what you want.

I can’t believe something just because I want it to be true.

I do it all the time. I believe my wife loves me.

You mean you pretend she loves you.

Fake it till you make it, baby.

But that isn’t belief.

Who are you to say what I believe?

But you implied you don’t believe it.

Yeah, well? It’s a free country.

What does that have to do with it? I can’t believe something unless I’m convinced it’s true.

Who’s stopping you?

Reality.

You know what reality is?

Not for certain, but I try to believe in it.

So you choose what you believe.

Based on evidence.

Choose different evidence.

Like when you ignore the affectionate texts your wife gets from Purchasing Control Centre?

Exactly.

I believe in God because I see good stuff?

That’s what real believers say.

And the bad stuff?

That’s the Devil in it.

And the Devil is more powerful than God.

Seems so today.

The Impact of Utilitarianism on Unsuspecting Feet (#poem #NaPoWriMo)

close up photography a baby s left foot
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The prompt today was to use a homophone or homonym. I can’t take credit for the example, which was offered by a former student.

After her purported reading
Of Jeremy Bentham,
She said he believed
She should do whatever
Made her happy.
For example,
She should spend
Her paycheck on new shoes,
Because they will be good
For her sole.

The Magic and Mystery of Ministry (#poem #NaPoWriMo)

backlit beach christian dawn
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Know how in the 1970s the televangelists
All had perfectly sculpted and blow-dried hair?
Well, my Daddy was at least partly responsible
For all that glitz and fancy get-up.

He didn’t do hair for anyone as famous
As Pat Robertson or Jim Bakker, but
Styled hair for some big traveling evangelists
Like Gene Williams. These guys would take the
Word of God around the world, but come back
To Galena Park to get their hair done right.
Sometimes they’d come to the house, too,
And they were always downright charming.

I used to like playing “The King is Coming”
On the piano because it started soft but
You’d be banging on the keys pretty hard
By the end of it, and my parents liked me
To play it for the preachers, even if
I wasn’t very good. And they’d always say,
“That was real good. You should be very
Proud of your boy. He’ll grow up to
Be a great Christian.”

They were always so sweet, and I think
They believed it. They made me believe
The magic. They made me believe I could
Fly when I died or even burn eternally.
They said they had to travel the world
Telling people about Jesus or else
Those people would burn forever.

They would burn forever just because
They hadn’t heard the good word.

“Why would Jesus do that,” I asked.
They said, “Because he loves us.”

On the Disastrous Art of Losing (#poem #NaPoWriMo)

Kisa-GotamiOn our first meeting, she
Described me as a “near Buddhist,”
Meaning, of course, that I had
The ascetic qualities of a monk.
 
And it was true that Siddhartha
Helped me lose my appreciation
For things. You learn first that
Attachment is suffering.
 
But Elizabeth Bishop was more
On my mind. Like her, I had
Lost things every day, and
Most of them didn’t matter.
 
We all get practice losing things,
Of course, and we learn it isn’t
A disaster; lives are nothing
More than crude or elegant mandalas.
 
Everything will be wiped away,
And there is no use torturing
Ourselves with excessive hand-wringing,
Longing, covetousness, or desire.
 
Push on, let it go, they’re only things
After all, and the universe continues
With no pause. And still, I sit
Thousands of miles away
 
Thinking of you.

Life, Love, and Leaving in Livingston, Texas (#poem #NaPoWriMo)

Screenshot 2019-04-11 at 08.07.26In a previous century my grandfather died
Only weeks after my great uncle.
A few weeks later, my grandmother
Made a quick trip to the grocery store
And returned to find her house in flames.

Having lost her brother, husband, and home
In a matter of weeks, my uncle Skeet
(so known because as a child he was
No bigger than a mosquito or “skeeter”)
Tried to comfort his sister.

He was a country preacher with a small congregation
In the Piney Woods of East Texas, and he
Always turned to Jesus, of course, in times like these.
Attempting reassurance, he said, “Ain’t it wonderful, Sis?
This just shows that the Lord always watches over us.
No matter what, Jesus is always by your side.”

He meant, of course, that she was lucky not
To have been burned alive, but I sort of thought
The loss of everything she loved might have
Compensated for the joy of continued existence,
But people say I am just too negative.

In the current century, my grandmother
Eventually died just a few years short of
Becoming a centenarian, so I returned
To Livingston, Texas one last time.

As we gathered at my grandmother’s house
To mourn, one of my aunts complained bitterly,
“Well, we’re gonna have to fire our preacher,
‘Cause he keeps saying the BI-ble says to
Give our money to the poor. They can work for
Their own money like we did!”

Upon learning that one of her new in-laws
Was Mexican, she demanded, “Well, are ya
Legal? If you’re legal, it’s all right, but we
Don’t need any wetbacks in the family!”

I haven’t returned to Livingston, Texas.

Texas Tornadoes and the Power of Prayer (#NaPoWriMo)

Screenshot 2019-04-10 at 05.58.12Oh, Good Lord, y’all, I thank we better git in the house. That sky is darker than Brother Jimmy’s sermon last Sunday, and it’s flashing like a God-damned disco. It’s gonna be a gully washer, all right, but Ronnie’s got the big truck if we git in any trouble, and we can surely trust Jesus will be with us. The last time we had a toad strangler like this, a big ol’ twister turned Alma’s roof inta toothpicks.

They say on the news that Greens Bayou is outta its banks, so y’all come on and let’s pray that God will watch over us. Come on in here away from those windows, and if you hear sumpin’ that sounds like a train, let’s hide in this closet and trust Jesus to know what’s right.

Some time later:

It’s over, so y’all come on give us a hug. It just goes to show Jesus is always by our side, watchin’ over us and protectin’ us. Uncle Raymond just called and said a tornado blew a tree on Bobby’s house and kilt him.

God bless his sweet soul.

Things People Know About Marxism (#poem #NaPoWriMo)

marx_head_3The prompt for Day 9 of NaPoWriMo is to write a list poem. I decided to write a list of things people know about Marxism.

Most people seem to know
That Marxism has something
To do with seizing
The means of production.

They seem unclear about
Who seizes it or what they
Do with it once seized,
But I guess it’s a start.

Oh, and they know
That Marxism means
Taking according to ability
And giving according to need.

Most people assume that
Means taking from good people
Like themselves and giving
To the undeserving poor.

They forget, I suppose,
That they may have needs
As well and that life is luck,
But what can you do?

Oh, and finally, people know
That Marxism means gulags
For their type, so they are
Afraid of democratic socialists.

On the Destructive Power of Measureable Learning Objectives (#poem #NaPoWriMo)

pointing-devilDay 8 of NaPoWriMo asks us to write poetry using the jargon of our professions (or someone else’s profession). As a philosophy instructor, my only learning objective was to destroy the smug and self-satisfied confidence my students had in their own knowledge. Petty of me, I know.

Your destruction is both
Achievable and measurable
Because I’ve developed my
Learning objectives with care.

Eliot showed you fear
In a handful of dust,
But I will sow panic and
Confusion with only a question.

I will dash your gods
Against the rocks.
I will make you doubt
Your very existence.

Darkness will envelop you.
Your sure footing will erode
Into blind, directionless
Stumbling in a cavernous abyss
As your world dissolves in disillusion.

Eons of random events brought
Us to this moment and this
Particular arrangement of cosmic
Dust and energy, but only now
You realize you’ve lost your way.

I am the dark demon raising the spectre
Of wasted life, of a mind unmoored.
Your breakdown is the final
Documented learning objective.

Your own failed attempt at a
Meaningful life is the ultimate
Outcome-based assessment,
Yielding data for the ravenous
Sisyphean minions to chew
And regurgitate for eternity.

If Gratitude Were Horses, We’d Never Fear a Stampede (#poem #NaPoWriMo)

free-giftToday’s NaPoWriMo prompt is to write a contemplation on gifts and giving. I read Ralph Waldo Emerson’s essay on gifts when I was in high school, and it has stayed with me all these years. Emerson definitely had his moments as an essayist.

Prologue

“The only gift is a portion of thyself. Thou must bleed for me.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Exposition

The gift is always some sort of recrimination,
At least this is the way I see it.
The gift tells what you think of me,
Or whether, indeed, you think of me.
Upon receipt, I am immediately filled
With guilt, shame, anger, sadness or—
Most likely—unworthiness,
At least for gifts from you.
Others may give gifts that
Only reaffirm my deeply held
Belief that I may not be worth
The second thought required
For a gift, but you are different,
Are you not?

And it should be easier to give than receive,
But what is it like to be too painfully
Aware that a thoughtless gift
Will make someone feel
Unworthy of thought, of value?
Paralyzed by caution, we givers
Fail ourselves and our fellow humans
Regularly. If only we’d had more time,
The gift would have been better.
A gift receipt is included, in case
You don’t like it.

Epilogue

“We do not quite forgive a giver. The hand that feeds us is in some danger of being bitten.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson