Banished

 

Banished

(by R.P.Edwards)

Little poopy diaper

Hiding by the door

Banished from the party

Not carried anymore...

Oh, I'm well acquainted with the diaper-filled existence. Granted, the first wave of wearers has grown, but THEIR offspring have now also adorned the inglorious girdle. It's a part of life. A part of growing. A part of "must" doing. AND, as a grandparent, it touches me little.

However, on this day as I mulled about and eventually made my way to the Sunroom (an addon with a separate door of entrance) I saw "it" coyly nestled against the outermost exit. A little diaper wrapped in a leftover grocery bag. I knew immediately the why and when. No doubt the youngest among us had expressed himself robustly and his wise mother, rather than disposing of the aromatic package in an inner receptacle, she chose a place farther away but one that would be noticed before "trash day." It made me smile and it made me...a little sad.

The poem continues:

...The leavings of a wee one

Not yet polished in his ways

And I view with tempered sadness

Knowing Oh how brief the days

****

The passing

 

You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away.

(James 4:14)

For the Grieving

(by R.P.Edwads)

Here

Then gone

And tears for known

A life entwined

But now alone

And grief our portion

It fills "your" time

A violent void

In heart and mind...

It's called a "viewing" or "visitation." A gathering of those who knew the deceased in some form or fashion and want to offer a bit of comfort to the immediate family. It's a way of dealing with the unpleasantness of death. A needful punctuation I think.

When I began this blog a short time ago I had gone to a "visitation." I had known the deceased from years before and there was a connection there; albeit decades had passed. I went through the line; viewed some memorabilia and gave a hug and some inadequate words to family.

Well, since "that" visitation a more intimate loved one has died. This too will end in a much deserved ceremony of conclusion.

Here's the gist: this life, the one embodied in this squishy flesh, is a short one. BUT, I am convinced that there is a "life" within us that travels on. That "life's" preservation is assured when attached to the Creator who went to a cross. 

The poem continues:

...But don't weep for long

Let your tears be few

For your loved one lives

Where all things are new

And the arms that cradle

Your dear one there

They hold "you" now

And your burdens bear

****

A couple songs are included (above and here). They have to do with grieving and the remedy.

The Tailwind

 

The Tailwind

(by R.P.Edwards)

The tailwind "there"

Or tailwind "back"

One be tight

The other slack

So, if I had my druthers 

Which one to track

I'd rather have

The tailwind "back"...

It usually goes with little notice; the waving of the flags. But to those of us with wind-affected craft (in my case, a bicycle) it could mean much. From the windchill to the effort needed to traverse home, a few miles per hour makes a difference. And thus the tailwind (pushing you towards your destination) or headwind (pushing against your efforts) are a part of life.

Nothing terribly deep here. In the "going" there is sometimes struggle, or ease. And, of course, "struggle" produces endurance and experience. And ease can bring an illusionary "rest," if not balanced with the other.

So, since many of you are well acquainted with "struggle," may tailwinds be yours in greater frequency. AND, when others see the collective "we" come into the room, may they expect a delightful tailwind to ease their delicate stay on this earth.

The poem continues...

...For going, verve is on my side

Muscles ready

Born to ride

But with the struggle

The weary tack

Towards home I'd druther

The tailwind back.

PS The flags in the photo above are outside the city hall of Granite City Illinois.  This town has an interesting history which was birthed by the need for reliable steel. A song and video was inspired by the journey of the up and coming metropolis. Thus:

The Oath Pill

 

The Oath Pill

(by R.P.Edwards)

What if oaths were a pill to take

Along with the words we solemn make

That would stay inside throughout our "time"

And with promises kept, we'd feel just fine

In fact, they'd help us in our healthy walk

In body and soul as we act and talk...

A lot of "oaths" have been given and taken lately. Understandable, considering the new administration has many deserving folk to appoint to important positions. I notice they're all (the oaths, that is) pretty much the same (except for the President's; his was different). Along with the words it involves the raising of the right hand and the placing of the left on the Bible. The solemn utterance concludes with, "So help me God."

Now, may I make a casual and obvious observance that the "oath" is only as good as the oath takers perception of things. In other words; the meaning is subjective. Case in point: there will no doubt be offered Federal legislation that will require proof of citizenship and paper ballots so that elections will be more fraud resistant. Without question many (very many) of those who have "sworn" to "defend" the US Constitution will vote against this "no-brainer" of an act. In other words: the oath is meaningless.

Of course, there are other "oaths" that carry little weight these days (marriage?), but there's no need to drag on. Perhaps the solution to our "dilemma" of duty is NOT in a pill; but rather in education. Teach the tots the importance of honor and honesty, and by all means steer them away from Ivory Towers that have forgotten the basics.

The poem continues.

...But of course, the opposite would then be true

Breaking faith would be an act we'd rue

For we'd turn bright green from the inner pain

And its obvious cause would add more shame

But this end might assist our choices make

Yes, if oaths were a pill we had to take.

****  

FIXER NOT

 FIXER NOT

(by R.P.Edwards)

J-B Weld and Duct Tape

The fixer for the few

For those devoid of workshops

And the skills to simply "do"...

I laid "old reliable" on the dining room table and assessed "her" condition. Yes, a snow shovel, but one of venerable years and without-thought reliability. But now she had cracks and was on the verge of a terminal fracture.

The setting: a snowstorm of significant measure had dumped 10+ inches of snow (and a smattering of sleet) on our mid-western (more on the southern side of the MW) heads. Mind you, I had been passing by displays of "new" shovels for weeks; ignoring these since I had a ready supply at home. Alas, my "supply" consisted of an "old" disfigured one that had quickly died under the strain and another that was more of a "pusher," not a scooper. So, I sought to resuscitate and revitalize the ancient workhorse using the tools of the somewhat inept.

J-B Weld is a wonderful Epoxy type goop. Two tubes of stuff; one a "hardener" (white) the other the "steel" (black). When mixed together in equal amounts they make a grayish glob that will be a strong bond when applied correctly. You don't have a lot of time so I slathered quickly. A few strips of Duct Tape (I chose white this time) and the repair was done. The old one survived, with many more seasons of "Heave-ho, the snow must go" in her future (I hope).

One might ask, "Why didn't you just buy another?" Well, just as "Bread, milk, and eggs" disappear from the grocery isles at a storm's approach (the French Toast effect), so too, the shovels vanish. 

The Poem continues:

...But we all can't be mechanics

Strong of mind with calloused hide

So it's J-B Weld and Duct Tape

And perhaps Vice-Grips...on the side.

Addendum:  It's been a long time since I added to this "Blog." I was rather excited at its beginning in 2009. I was laid off at the time and I thought its title "The layoff letters," was rather clever. And so I wrote and wrote; of things serious and benign; being sure to include with each a simple poem. And then hibernation set in (perhaps due to such low readership). No matter. I'm glad you're here and there's an enormous archive if you're interested in such things.