Wednesday, September 28, 2011

Hoarders, we

Creative Hoarding
(by R.P.Edwards)

Is it hoarding
If it’s hanging
From the rafters…yon
The clutter from
The counter
O, I suspect it could be
But I feel a lesser dread
Because the hoard is hidden
In the rafters
Over head

He’d heard of it. He’d read of it. He’d even seen the faded newsreels documenting the unthinkable.  But here, today, NOW! IN AMERICA! He couldn’t believe his eyes as book after book after book was thrown to the blaze.  “What are you doing?” he said in a whisper.  And then, bursting past his inhibitions he shouted over the chain-link fence, “What are you doing?! Why are you burning those books?!” 

“Oh, hi, Ted,” said the coveralled caretaker of the local library as he waddled over to greet the University Prof.  “Our fifty cent sale was a bust; and our take ‘em away free effort still left us with five hundred books.  Shame to stuff the landfill with all this paper.  Here,” said the chaw-chewing pragmatist, “this ’n ought to burn pretty good.  It’s titled, “The Audacity of Hope.””

The tenured teacher gingerly took the volume.  Then, with a nostalgic glint and a near-tear, he--for a good thirty seconds--gently stroked the cover with his pink, callousless palms while holding the words tightly to his breast.  Then, as reality seemed to suddenly steel his countenance, he reared back and sent the fluttering fluff to its well deserved incineration.  Pausing to reposition his locks, and smooth his smock, he turned to the tender (who spat a portion towards the curling collection) and asked, “Any more by that author?”

“O, quite a number,” said the feeder as he reached for his bag of Red Man.  “Let me go fetch the wheelbarrow.”


Trying to clean up around this abode, a bit.  Yeah, that pathetic picture atop is from my basement.  The all consuming clutter has pushed me to the edge and, although my first instinct is to throw everything out, I’ve resorted, instead, to selective hanging; which serves a two-fold purpose (so I rationalize).  1. The cleared workbench at least gives the illusion of order, and 2. If I can see it, it will cut down on the search.

And so, I reckon if this middle-aged procrastinator can get his house in order (at least starting to), even so our political reps can start sorting through the Washingtonian morass.  Redundancy will be reduced.  Clutter will be collated.  And what we “got;” what we end up with…will be put in plain sight.  And, O yeah, I threw out quite a few books.  Felt good.


Friday, September 23, 2011

September 23, 2011 Republican Debate

Google it
(by R.P.Edwards)

Google sponsored
Youtube posts
Brett and Megyn and Chris
Are hosts
Nine republicans
In the fray
Only one
Will win the day
Perry stumbles
Border woes
Santorum delivers
Piercing blows
Mitt stays strong
Deflecting blasts
Cain beat cancer
In the past
Bachmann says
“You keep your cents”
Many want
A southern fence
Newt’s nostalgic
“I was there”
Johnson wants
A tax that’s fair
Huntsman pushes
“Move to gas!”
Paul, as usual
Is bold as brass
But in the end
One thing I know
Perry’s collar
Has got…to go

The Fox/Google sponsored Republican Presidential debate.  Recorded it. Crawled in after a night at the job.  Grabbed a discarded envelope (for notes) and reclined…to dine.  Well, a couple hours later I tried again.  The above poem is the gist.

I must admit, I’m beginning to drift away from the honorable governor of Texas.  One reason; I just don’t like his collar.  Reminds me of some old-timey photograph.   I’m now leaning more towards Mitt.  Yes, a Mitt/Huckabee ticket would suit me just fine.  And, the most memorable line of the night (in my humble opinion) came from the lips of the former speaker of the House, Newt Gingrich: 

“Nothing will turn America around more than election night when Barak Obama loses…decisively”

Amen, Mr Speaker, Amen.

I'm telling ya...there's something about that collar.  But then, I am working the midnight shift...

Wednesday, September 21, 2011

Pot Pies...and I

Memory lane
(by R.P.Edwards)

I took a trip
Down memory lane
Sent there
By a snack
A simple time
When truth…was true
And issues
White, or black
Morality…was measurable
And right and wrong
In stone
And then I traveled
Back again
This swamp
That we call


Like those stone slabs that offer a covering to corpses in crypts, I slid the lid of the deep freeze and peered deep into and then, arm full in, shuffled the frosty contents which layered the prehistoric bottom.  Oh, at one time this convenience had hinges, and opened in a more civilized fashion.  But, that was years ago and, since this repair is non-essential (unlike the previous post) it can wait…forever.  Aha! There…stuck fast near the joining of the planes…an ancient pot pie.  Why, I haven’t had one of these in years!  In fact…it brings back some fond memories.

Way back when, in the sixties and seventies, mom would have a “pot pie” dinner for the six (as in ‘kids’). These morsels, however (unlike today’s version) were embraced by a foil bowl, and only suitable to be cooked…in the oven.  And, being the thrifty sort that she was (and is) she’d save many of these holders and use them for snack disbursement…such as popcorn (also cooked the old fashion way).

Ah…a simpler time.  Sure, there were problems, but the under girding foundations of morality and traditional values…were the same for the left and the right.  And so, as I sat in front of the antenna fed television on a Sunday night with my pot-pie bowl of popcorn, the foundation of my then society was, for the most part…strong.  Life, marriage, right, wrong, truth, error…solid.

Enter…the swamp.  Where morality is malleable.  Where truth…is transient.  Where airy words have sway…and then we, we all…must pay.  Oh, to be sure, the fantasy land, the fairy tale believers have always been among us.  But, they used to mainly congregate in the hallowed subsidized halls where titles and the honors of men abound.  Where godlessness is virtue.  Where fleshly reachings are applauded, and where, for some reason, parents are quick to send their tenders to be molded and bent…by fools.  Yes, error has always been there, but now it’s tendrils reach everywhere.  And…with the weaving of words…we believe. 

The problem is, like the all-encompassing fog of the pre-dawn, the lies cannot withstand the blazing light of truth.  Unfortunately (for they, the many whose righteous covering is only the opaque mist), when the heat comes…their inadequacy appears.  And the many who trusted them; believed in them; gave themselves to them…these suffer the fate of the na├»ve.

And so gays are now openly welcomed in the military.  The media says it’s a ho-hum, no big deal.  And why wouldn’t they? This is their belief.  Their truth.  But, as a former sailor who once quartered with eighteen in a very small space, I know, I KNOW, that lust unleashed will cause division, decay, debauchery, destruction.  And, just because the dream-weavers have written a beautiful novel with a fairy tale ending, history testifies; NO, SCREAMS!, that ideas based solely on man’s mettle will suffer the fate and destiny of man…the grave.


Friday, September 16, 2011

Seasoned, please

(by R.P.Edwards)

There’s nothing like
A knowing hand
To tame the tempest’s
When life or death
Takes knowledge
Leave flash
And fluff

Her skin was white and smooth and I must admit her curves were not unpleasant to the touch but, she was cold, and hard, and clammy and, though my arm curled gently around her as my face drew uncomfortably near, this was an intimacy that was unnatural; almost forbidden; but I had to press on; I had to fix that blasted…toilet.

Yes, it was another one of those “The ceiling is leaking things,” and since the splatter came from directly above the washing machine…it was the commode on the main floor…and it had to be fixed.  So, since the family vehicle is on the lam I, like the Wizard of Oz pre-witch, peddled my bicycle to the local hardware store (fairly close, thankfully), and got the final skinny on how to tame the ancient drop-box.

After several hours (snail-like, I) the flusher is more focused and, though some of the floor is a bit soft (alas), that repair will have to wait (hopefully until after I’m dead).

The tie-in: once again I, the novice, needed help from the experienced.  I checked youtube (of course!), asked a dude at work (he’d done it) and finally pressed the “experts” at the hardware store.  They all got me through the toidy task.  And, dear reader, at the helm of this ship of state we have hopefully learned--over the last three years--that inexperience, though wrapped in pretty ribbon--is deadly.  The next fixer needs to have calloused hands and a weathered face.  Therefore, of the many in the running…I lean towards the governors.  Maybe they haven’t plumbed the enormous commode that finds it’s hole in Washington, but at least they know sewage when they smell it.


Tuesday, September 13, 2011

Coming for Tea

Tea Party Debate
(by R.P.Edwards)

“In this corner!”
Almost said
Each contestant read
To win the prize
Obama out
With blackened eyes
But first they battle
For the chance
They bob and weave
And dance the dance
Perry’s pummeled
Raining fists
The lessers rail
And bring their lists
Santorum’s feisty
Newt is nice
Bachmann’s tough
And Paul adds spice
He loves the number nine
Huntsman, Romney
Tout their spine
“This I’ll do!”
And “This they’ve done!”
“For the answer
I’m the one!”
A rousing party
Delightful tea
Yes, tasty fare
For such…as me

Recorded the latest Republican debate on Monday, and digested it today.  I speak, naturally, of the one hosted by Wolf Blitzer and CNN, and held at the Florida State Fairgrounds in front of a bunch of Tea Partiers. 

Honestly…I loved it.  Rather than some kind of snobby gathering in the anemic north, this…was a show.  And, much like the beginnings of any pay-per-view extravaganza there was pomp and stomp.  The nicknames --“The Firebrand,” “The Fighter,” “The Big Thinker”-- the large glistening stage and the rousing rendition of the national anthem.  Now that’s more like it.

My impression?  Perry was beaten up a bit, but still stands.  The others seemed strong and predictable but, surprisingly, I’m beginning to warm up to Governor Huntsman (“The Diplomat!”) and find myself wishing he would, due to some of his “social” stands, gently switch parties and run against President Obama for the democratic nomination.

And so, resigning myself to my middle-aged mindset, I look forward to the next contest.  Football? Nay. It’s debate season…and the teams are jockeying for position.  I’m ready for the playoffs.  Bring 'em on!


Sunday, September 11, 2011

Mindful Be

Please read the portion below, and then return to listen
(by R.P.Edwards)

All around
The weeping ones
We pass…and feel no pain
O Lord
Give eyes
Let love
To heal
In Jesus

I woke up with it going through my head.  A mournful tune I first heard over forty years ago; a part of a Christmas special titled, “Mr Magoo’s Christmas Carol.”  The young scrooge was in his boarding school…and very much alone.  I remember it still.

Funny, you wouldn’t think cartoon fare could move one but, through that innocent medium a boy became thoughtful of things beyond his toys and trivialities. 

There have been a couple deaths in the family lately; one, physical; the other…deeper.  And, since we all sip of the cup of despair from time to time I’ll not dwell on my portion, other than to say to myself, and to you, dear reader; let us be mindful of the precious souls in our midst.  Those many that we pass by and pass with to our inevitable end.  For you see, in our many daily greetings there may be sorrow behind the smile; hurting behind the hello; and, if we’re too self-centered, too self absorbed…we’ll miss it.  And with the missing…we miss our reason to remain…and do His works; works that may include a hand, a hug, a shared tear, and the lessening of a terrible, crushing weight.  Yes, let us be mindful; mindful of what’s really important in this life.  Now, if you will…please listen to the song.


Thursday, September 1, 2011

The Power of Song

Do me a favor and listen to this song...first.

Because you sang
(by R.P.Edwards)

Past the mind
Into the heart
 The word in song
A piercing part
That rends the spirit
The soul
The “know”
Once fallow ground
Now new things…grow

It caught me totally off guard. I was watching one of the final episodes of “America’s Got Talent” (a contest of sorts to find an “act” suitable for a Vegas run along with a million dollar prize [light, diversionary fare]) and, frankly, since part of the “filler” of these final shows usually consists of “modern” musicians and their offerings (blech!), I usually mute or fast forward.  This time, however, I waited a moment to at least hear the beginnings.  And, with the words in song, delivered by a beautiful voice…I was moved. 

The singer: Susan Boyle. A middle-aged success story who rose to fame from the British version of the talent show.  The song: written by Bjorn Ulvaeus and Benny Andersson of  ABBA fame (younger folk ask your nearest elder) for their musical, “Kristina from Duvemala” which is, itself, taken from the novel, The Emigrants, by Vilhelm Moberg.

Anyway, aside from the backstory, the song comes across as if by a person in a dark, helpless, exhausted, desperate place; a place where they need God “to be there.”  And, as a Christian of some age (not “great,” but some) and, since even I have been through a few things (have not we all?)…this song somehow pierced the intellect and did an internal stirring. 

You know, it’s funny, and I’ve said it many times before; you can read a three or four hundred page novel and come away with a certain “feeling,” or shifting, or moving.  Or, you can listen to a four minute song…and get to the same place.

By the way, in my little research run I’ve noticed that Ms. Boyle’s rendition is a bit different from the original (word wise).  More centered and Christian believer focused (as opposed to fitting in with the story line) and, I must say, I like it. I like it very much.  And, over the last half day…I’ve listened; over and over and over. 

Here’s a link to Helen Sjoholm (original cast member) singing the version from the musical.You have to be there 

For a little more info, here’s a link to the site for “Kristina from Duvemal.” The Musical