| Poem |
[Nov. 3rd, 2008|08:08 pm] |
My Son
His tiny shoulders are strong
They carry on them the weight of my own father’s failures
All those weekends he didn’t come get me
The baseball games he didn’t see
That time when I was ten and watch unnoticed
As he snorted lines of coke off a dirty kitchen counter
He is sleeping now
No idea about the magnitude of hope invested in him
The opportunity to redeem us all
By living a happy life--
Growing up comfortable in the presence of love
He shits his pants and I nearly cry
Because it’s just so beautiful
How sheepish he looks when he tells me--
Worried that I’ll be disappointed in him--
“Daddy, I accidentally pooped in my pants… I tried to make it daddy”
I would kill the whole of humanity for him
Render extinct forever the species of man
Before willingly causing in him
A momentary glint of despair
This desperation is unreasonable
So, too, is the stature of the responsibility invested in me
But now he’s sleeping and I’m transfixed
On the articulation of his fingers
As he lies there
The half-grin as he dreams of Play-Doh and tree houses
And I worry about the kind of man
He might become in the shadow of my influence
I’ll never again sleep that peacefully
My resting hours are shadowed
With a kind of paranoia known only to a
Parent of the brink of failure
A man thrust into the prominence
Of a role he’ll never be able to play
Yet here I am, a daddy.
We’re riding in the car—
I’m singing James Taylor
And he’s singing along:
“There ain’t no doubt in no one’s mind
That love’s the finest thing around”
“What’s a Carolina, daddy?”
And this moment feels like the Ascension
Or Martin Luther at the chapel door—
A spiritual reformation of the highest order.
He and I are a single life,
A solitary light
Crafted from the same bag of star-dust
Into a patchwork union of genetics and cartoons
And laughing about the word turd
And reading Word Bird after bath time
Ten thousand years I’d toil in obscurity
For a single lullaby:
“goodnight my angel time to close your eyes
and save these questions for another day”
Another day for fear and hope and worry
Another day to love you forever |
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|
| Poem |
[Nov. 3rd, 2008|07:56 pm] |
Soteria
“Come here,” she said
Sliding down low in the pew,
Empty Presbyterian sanctuary still resonating
The uninspired hymns of the Sabbath.
A spectral Psalmist whispered from the rafters,
Lead me into thy path and teach me
In thy presence is fullness of joy
Pleasures forevermore
Lifting up her Shroud of Turin
Exposing to him blood-red nipples
Crucified with silver hood rings
Legs spread wide and arms up over her head
A beautiful backwards martyr
She touch his face with Messianic deliverance
Naming his sins and then absolving them
Casting inhibitions out into the swine
Calming seizures
Opening eyes
Giving life
Symbols tattooed on the back of her neck translate,
‘One who dances freely’
Her spirit and his
Cavorting wildly about the alter and baptismal
A communion of broken doctrine but flowing Eros
No father to forsake them, but still a resurrection
Of child-like faith in an Old Testament covenant:
A heart for a heart
A soul for a soul
And they preached the gospel to one another saying,
Thou will be the god of my salvation
On thee do I wait all the day. |
|
|
| Poem |
[Nov. 3rd, 2008|07:53 pm] |
God Save the Republic
You filthy cowards…
All of us.
Palsied by the convenience of our age
Deafened by self-interest
Numb to sacrifice or duty
Blind to the history of our people
We were a nation of Greatness
With a destiny made manifest
By conviction and struggle
The courage to face down tyrants
With the strength to crush us
Marked by a line
Drawn in Philadelphia soil
By a confederacy of the resolved:
Here. Now.
This instant we proclaim
The inheritance of our Creator
We declare that liberty alone will suffice
Nothing short of perfect freedom will do henceforth
No king or culture or army
Could quiet
This Declaration of humanity
The British navy could not sink it
The Nazis couldn’t overrun it
Evil Empires would cower in the face of it
Yet now it crumbles from within
Its foundation trembles at every pier
Under the weight of disinterest
The crushing weight of entitlement
The inexorable weight
Of a people too long removed from Revolution
Too distant from the example of their forebears
And the loss and despair
That were the principle ingredients—
The absolutely necessary components—
Of our Founding
There are no invaders at the gate
No nation or tribe
At which to aim our defenses
Our enemy slips quietly in
Through televisions and idle leisure
Grows strong feasting
On the pork-barrel currency
Of our so-called representatives
We were a people of Constitution
A perfect union of the self-reliant
But not selfish
Willing to shout into the storm of tyranny:
Not here. No more.
Our land and our fortunes be taken—
Our lives snuffed out
By the legions of a far-away evil—
But not our spirits
Our wholly-American spirit of defiance
And the moral indignation
At all affronts to liberty.
There was a time when
“Give me liberty or give me death”
Was a national outcry
A perfect, clear, resolute
Statement of our purpose
An unobstructed view of our hearts
Now it reads like Shakespearean tragedy—
The distant ramblings of an unbelievable character
Promenading in garish costume
In the face of actual hardship
He would surely shrink away…
And yet we did not.
We fought them from the trees
With clubs and rocks
And farmhouse muskets
Starved at Valley Forge
Watched our bodies eaten away by scurvy
And 25,000 patriots fall around us
But they were not prepared for the
Righteous fire in our hearts
Our religious devotion
To the fields we had planted
And the cities we built.
The tree of liberty
Refreshed itself for eight years
Until we corned the bastards at Yorktown
And demanded our emancipation.
That was our history.
They were our kin.
And they left a family heritage
Toward which we could all aspire.
Yet here we sit…
Gluttonous with prosperity
Paralyzed with comfort
No more mindful of our roots
Than we are of our appendix.
This dream they left for us is fading.
We sell our votes
For the shameful price of patronage
Choose our leaders
By the size of their promised hand-outs
Am perfectly comfortable
With the seizure
And then redistribution
Of the fruit of one man’s labor
To another
Think about our soldiers
In only the most distant kind of way
While our republic is crumbling,
Crumbling away.
We were a nation of Greatness.
We were a people of Constitution.
God save the Republic. |
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| Thanks |
[Nov. 3rd, 2008|07:47 pm] |
Thanks to everyone who attended our Halloween bash. A great time was had by all. We enjoyed opening our home to so many wonderful people, and are thankful for the time we got to spend with all of you.
I am especially thankful for the developing friendship with Brent and Mandy... I think we have the goods to be real-life super-cool whiz-bang awesome cohorts.
Can't wait to see you all again. |
|
|
| A Letter to the Corporate Office of Beef O Brady's |
[Mar. 15th, 2007|04:35 pm] |
I am writing to express to you my sincere dismay at your decision to replace the existing Beef O Brady's Blue Cheese dressing with a newer, clearly inferior product. I eat at Beef's almost everyday for lunch, and in 2006 I spent over $15,000 at the 43rd Street Beef's in Gainesville, Fl. Danny Mcann and his staff always make eating at Beef's a pleasure.
I came in today and ordered a meal, with my usual side of blue cheese. The taste of this new blue cheese was so abysmal, so intolerably awful, that I was sure I had accidentally bitten into a dead raccoon or a rotting corpse. I can't conjure the words to describe how rancid the new blue cheese hits your pallet. It tastes like a mix of underarm, feet and impending doom.
I set up a double blind taste test with 20 participants. Each cleared their pallet between tastes, and 19 of the 20 picked the original blue cheese as their favorite, noting the new blue cheese as nearly inedible. The one person who preferred the new blue cheese was I'm sure a sadist or someone who just doesn't like joy or happiness.
In all seriousness, a vast majority-- an overwhelming consensus-- of Beef's regulars is upset about the change.
In an effort to spread the word about this misguided decision, I have commissioned the website address http://beefsnewbluecheesesucks.com as a forum to spread the word about the near-conspiratorial poor decision making on the part of Beef's corporate.
Thank you for considering my opinion and the opinion of countless others as we request a change back to the original blue cheese. I'll keep you posted on the progress of the new website, as well as the newspaper and radio ads we are planning in support of our cause.
Kind Regards,
Michael P. Bobbitt, MBA
Applied Economics Group
www.aeghome.com |
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| New Poem |
[Feb. 15th, 2007|02:36 pm] |
My Son
His tiny shoulders are so strong.
They carry on them the weight of my own father’s failures-
All those weekends he didn’t come get me
The baseball games he didn’t see
That time when I was ten and watch unnoticed
As he snorted lines of coke off a dirty kitchen counter.
He is sleeping now,
No idea about the magnitude of hope invested in him
The opportunity to redeem us all
By living a happy life--
Growing up comfortable in the presence of love.
He shits his pants and I nearly cry
Because it’s just so beautiful
How sheepish he looks when he tells me--
Worried that I’ll be disappointed in him--
“Daddy, I accidentally pooped in my pants… I tried to make it daddy.”
I would kill the whole of humanity for him,
Render extinct forever the species of man
Before willingly causing in him
A momentary glint of despair
This desperation is unreasonable
So too, is the stature of the responsibility invested in me
But now he’s sleeping and I’m transfixed
On the articulation of his fingers
As he lies there
The half-grin as he dreams of play-doh and treehouses
And I worry about the kind of man
He might become in the shadow of my influence
I’ll never again sleep that peacefully.
My resting hours are shadowed
With a kind of paranoia known only to a
Parent of the brink of failure
A man thrust into the prominence
Of a role he’ll never be able to play
Yet here I am, a daddy.
We’re riding in the car—
I’m singing James Taylor
And he’s singing along:
“There ain’t no doubt in no one’s mind
That love’s the finest thing around...”
“What’s a Carolina, daddy?”
And this moment feels like the Ascension
Or Martin Luther at the chapel door—
A spiritual reformation of the highest order.
He and I are a single life,
A solitary light
Crafted from the same bag of star-dust
Into a patchwork union of genetics and cartoons and
Laughing about the word turd
And reading Word Bird after bathtime
Ten thousand years I’d toil in obscurity
For a single lullaby:
“Goodnight my angel time to close your eyes
And save these questions for another day...”
Another day for fear and hope and worry.
Another day to love you forever. |
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