Trees of Grey

Green turns to gold turns to red
Yet as the trees shake their heads
Their every leaf withers away
Til only bare-pated elders remain:
No longer masters of their domain
None seek shelter 'neath their sway
Even when they sparkle with frost,
They are heeded not; their value lost

Drippy Melancholy

This is what I get when I write something in the middle of the night on paper I grabbed from the nightstand and wrote without bothering to turn on the light.  Well, I think this is what I meant to write; turns out when I can't see what I'm writing, I write rather sloppily.  But as with many middle-of-the-night things, you forget all about them by the time you wake up.  (Or by the time your migraine goes away... but that's another poem.)

And yes, I know the title sucks.  I just wanted to have something as a placeholder other than "Untitled 9-29-12" for the purposes of future searches.

your melancholy
drips down on me
a persistent leak
makes my outlook bleak
leeching away my joy

your sorrow takes it down the drain
as I am soaked in the bitterness of your pain
part of me longs to share your burden awhile
but the other part just wants to make you smile
what can I do to help you?

you're the dripping faucet that won't let me sleep
you're the leaky roof the landlord won't upkeep
you're the thunderstorm that sweeps sunshine away
you're the freezing rain that makes a miserable day
and yet I still want you around

How can I help you out?
Do you need a shoulder to cry on?
Do you need someone to make you laugh?
I'll comfort you with my presence, or absence
I'd brush your hair after a bath
I'd offer you chocolates or ice cream
If I thought for a moment they'd help

Voting will now commence: is this better with or without the last stanza?

Flying (Sitting on the Side of the Road in the Middle of Nowhere)

I have the vague notion that this poem, which I originally wrote 2 years ago, started as a song.  Of course, that might also be because the first line is a blatant ripoff from Andie McDowell's character in Michael.  Pretty sure that would fall in the purview of "sampling" rather than plagiarism though, so we're good.  Right?

Sitting on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere
Watching the insects crawling on the ground
Thinking, wond'ring, why oh why
Must I be stuck here, earthbound?

When I'd rather be flying

High above the trees
I'd rather be flying
Like one of the birds or the bees
I'd rather be flying
Soaring through the sky
So why, oh why, oh why
Am I still on the ground?
 
Sitting by the side of lake, watching the fishies
Contemplating the way they swim and float
They have the freedom to move in 3D
But only until they run into the shore or a boat

But if I were flying

High above the trees
If I were flying
Like one of the birds or the bees
If I were flying
Soaring through the sky
There'd be no limits,
I'd pass you, swooping by
 
At least that's what it seems like down here
But when you really think about, it ain't so
Because birds have gotta watch out for the airplanes,
And there's still so many places they can't go.

So why bother flying
High above the trees
Why bother flying
Like one of the birds or the bees
Why bother flying
Just be content with where you are
You might just find it's better
Than constantly striving,
Surviving not thriving,
Grabbing at a star

Ha Shem: Song of The Name

write Your Name upon my heart

as You’ve graven me on your hands

write Your Name upon my heart

but not as on the beach sands

oh, let no wave of doubt ever sweep away

the Name of glorious Love

You write on my heart today

 

put Your Word into my mouth

sear it clean with fiery coal

put Your Word into my mouth

that I may be made truly whole

“of unclean lips am I” as Isaiah did say

until Your Word is in my mouth

as now I will pray

 

with Your Light fill my life

let it shine for all to see

with Your Light fill my life

let others see only You in me

let all my dark of sin be cast far away

keep in Your Light my life

forever there to stay

 

Bread of Life, slake my hunger

spring up in me, o Living Water

Bread of Life, slake my hunger

be my Father and I your daughter

my service and praise at Your feet I’ll lay

but for this Bread of Life, Your gift

I can never repay

 

upon Your Way lead my feet

let them not be tempted aside

upon Your Way lead my feet

for You are my One True Guide

with You beside me I fear neither night nor day

for Your Way is safe and good

if I never stray

 

score Your Truth into my mind

that it may also pour from my lips

score Your Truth into my mind

so my faith’s foundation never slips

and on this solid rock I’ll stand firm in the spray

of foolish thoughts and plans

made by those who’ve lost their way

 

flood Your Life into my soul

that I may serve you more

flood Your Life into my soul

in a roaring downpour

so that You are all I am today

as You always will be

and You were yesterday

Campaign Promises

Empty words
Spoken by actors
Informed by research groups
And data miners

Plans and platforms like cheap toys
Costing little
Quickly broken
And soon replaced

They mean nothing.

Blinded Eyes

Blinded eyes
Don't realize
Beauty is all around us

Eyes slide by
Things they should prize
In search of the next big thing

They don't see
The next big thing
Is the first snowdrop of spring

They don't know
Beauty's as close
As the sparkling dust
Floating downwards
In the wash of mithril light
Between trees crowned
With scarlet, green, and gold

And until it's captured
And posted on facebook
They fail to notice the perfection
Of a single drop of rain
And even then,
They miss the storm's symphony

Blinded eyes
Ever looking
But failing to see

Haiku: Estel

hands tighten around
a much-wanted child's photo
like the first snowdrop

I May Not Agree...

I may not agree with what you say
I may not like what you do every day
I may think you’re wrong when you think you’re right
But I’ll let you do it, because it’s your life
 
Unless
 
What you’re doing
Will hurt somebody
 
So you can have as many guns as you please
As long as you're not going on a killing spree
 
So, you can be GLBT—you’re free—
But don’t get mad that it’s not for me.
 
So, have all the sex you want; it’s fine with me—
As long as you don’t rape anybody.

So, you can control your body all you like—

Just don’t you kill your unborn tyke.
 
So, practice Islam, Buddhism, Astrology—
But don’t hate me for my Christianity.
 
So, if I vote blue and you go red,
Please don’t sling mud at my head.
How about a discussion instead?
 
Maybe you’ll see my point of view,
Maybe I’ll see yours too.

Ink Heroes

My favorite people
Are the ones who make me think
When I read the pages
They've covered up with ink
 
Scratched out
Caroted in
Margins filled
And starting again
 
My favorite people
Give me something to read
And what I read, I ponder
'Cause thinking's what I need
 
Just can't stop
Words a-jumbling
Phrases tumbling
List-items fumbling
In my rambling, scrambling brain
 
My favorite people
Are the ones who read my scribbles
Commenting, editing, helping me to make
Poems from all this drivel
 
They're my Ink Heroes

How Good Can It Be? (Sex)

How good can it be
When people make up excuses
To get out of it?
 
How good can it be
When people fake it
Just to get done sooner?
 
How good can it be
When people fell the need to
Force others to do it with them?
 
I’ve got a headache.
Oh, YES!
Aaaaaaah!  Help me!

Instructions for Life

To make the most of each day,
Laugh often
 
To avoid depression,
Talk to friends
 
To be content,
Count your blessings
 
To escape despair,
Pray
 
To enjoy life,
Love

Haiku: Bat

This is the problem with coming up with something good... the next day there's this huge feeling of inadequacy and uninspiration.  What could I possibly write today that could be even as good as yesterday... let alone better?

a bat swoops down
plucks fruit: an indulgent treat
unaware it's bad

Shorthand (Holy, Mighty)

Well, I came up with another song while singing in the shower today.  Here you go:

When my father used to pray,

He'd use many words to say
Names for God
And I didn't understand
The reason he'd use ten or twenty names
To direct his prayer
I didn't realize
It was his shorthand
 
But now I'm older,
Now I know;
Now I do it too.
For if I said everything
There wouldn't be enough
Time to talk to you

So I say, "Mighty One"
Thinking of how you stopped the sun
To give your people time
To win the day
 
I cry, "Holy Lord"
Thinking of Isaiah
How he confessed
Our unworthiness
As he stood in Your presence
 
(chorus:)
And You are Holy
You are Mighty
You are so much more than I could ever be
You are Holy
You are Mighty
Yet You came down to earth
To save a wretch like me
 
So when I say, "Abba"
I'm thinking of the Father
Who threw down his work
And came running
When He saw His child's face
 
When I cry, "Creator"
Thinking of how You call the stars by name
How You spoke the world into existence
Yet You breathed Your life in me
 
 (chorus)
Oh,You are Holy
You are Mighty
You are so much more than I could ever be
You are Holy
You are Mighty
Yet You came down to earth
To save a wretch like me

And I cry "Savior"

Thinking of a bloody hill
Topped by willing sacrifice
Who suffered it all for me
 
(chorus 2:)
You are Holy
You are Mighty
And it's Your love that always overwhelms me
For You are Holy
You are Mighty
Yet You stood in my place,
Suffered and died for me

 

Nostalgic Night

I remember when
I tore down a star to thrust
Into the hands of my crush

I remember when
I wrote a love song with a tragic end
To sing in my head as I rode out of town

I remember when
My first boyfriend gave me my first kiss
Even a college girl wasn't ready for this

I remember all of these things
And more
As I sit here alone, behind a locked door
This nostalgic night

Questions

You ask me questions
Questions like:
 
How could a loving God
Let my child die of cancer?
How can I trust God to take care of me
When He let me be raped?
If God truly controls the universe
Why does he allow the Hurricane Katrinas
And Haitian earthquakes and Christmas tsunamis
To destroy so many people's lives?
 
I have no answers.
I have only more questions.
 
How can a loving God
Let civil war reign for thirty years in Columbia,
Until a whole generation has grown
Knowing only drugs and guns and forced soldiership
Since they were children themselves?
How can a just God
Allow millions of women and children each year
To be sold as sex slaves?
And how, how
Am I supposed to believe that
God is love, and He is
"Not wanting anyone to perish,
But everyone to come to repentance"[1]
When He commanded genocide
--Even among His 'chosen people'--
With the words, "Purge the evil from Israel.”[2]
 
And some days, I feel faithless
Because I just do not understand
The hows and the whys
And I am left without knowledge or strength
Bereft, for my hope fails me
And all I have left
Are the questions.
 

---

[1]  2 Peter 3:9

[2]  Judges 20:13

Christmas Program/ A-La-La-La-La

So, hello again everyone.  I apologize for not posting the last couple of days... I got a bit distracted.  Tuesday night I got asked to help with the Christmas program at my church, and it kind of took over my thinking for a few days there.  But I wrote the script tonight, and then it hit me that I hadn't posted any poetry in a couple days, so I'm going to take the quick way out and post the new lyrics I wrote for a kid's song for the Christmas program.

For those of you not familiar with this song, the chorus goes:
A-la-la-la-la-la-le-lu-ia
A-la-la-la-la-la-le-lu-ia!
A-la-la-la-la-la-le-lu-ia
A-la-la-la-la-la-le-- le-lu-ia!

I didn't change that.

Here are the new verses:


1. Tell the good news, tell a friend next to ya
Tell the good news and sing la, la
Tell the good news, tell a friend next to ya
Tell the good news and sing--- sing (Chorus)

2. Go to Bethlehem and see
Christ the Lord the newborn King;
Go to Bethlehem and see
Christ the Lord and sing--- sing (chorus) 

3. Jesus is the King, He's the King forever
Jesus is the King, so sing la, la
Jesus is the King, He's the King forever
Jesus is the King so sing--- sing (chorus)

4. Jesus is the king of the sun and storm,
Jesus keeps you safe, keeps you safe from harm
Jesus is the king of the sun and storm
Jesus will keep you safe-- so sing (chorus)


Now, in all honesty, who thinks my verses are better than the originals:
Shake a friend's hand, Scratch a friend's back, Bump a friend's bum, and especially Pick a friend's nose!?!  I might even want to sing mine!

Approach (Don't Have to Wait)

a song

Hallelujah!  That we don't have to wait

It's not a one-way street
Hallelujah!  That I don't have to wait
For You to come to me
We can approach with confidence
We can approach secure in Your grace
Hallelujah!  We can come
With the assurance
Hallelujah!  We can come
We are welcome in Your presence
We can approach with confidence
We can approach, we don't have to wait
Help us not to pray
Just for You to come to us
But to take a step                                                                              
Closer to you, Jesus

Disease (Sin)

It's not an end-times movie                                                                                                    
Filled with asteroids and comets
It's not an apocalypse
Of ice and snow
 
It's a slow, painful death
A growing cancer that eats
All the materials that should be building the body up
It's like AIDS,
Not killing outright
But making us so vulnerable
The weakest germ could be fatal
We don't even notice at first
The disease overwhelming us
 
We don't see the slow fade
 
We think it's okay
If we say those lying words
Think that hateful thought
Want that neighbor's car
Watch that dirty movie
 
We think it's okay
If we don't give to the food bank
Don't invite the homeless to spend the night
Don't visit the sick and comfort the hurting
Don't send money to victims of earthquakes and tsunamis
 
But every time we make those choices
We become the disease
That is slowly killing our world.

Bouquets of Sharpened Pencils

Whenever I sharpen pencils
It calls to mind a phrase:
“Bouquets of sharpened pencils”
 And tears spring into my eyes
At the memory of
Onscreen chemistry
And a true
Love story
Problems and all
 
But somehow
They overcame
And not a sound could be heard
But the beating of
My own heart
As she smelled the daisy
Accepted it
Accepted him
 
And the flood of emotion
I experience each time I watch that movie:
The joy
The pain
The aching longing
For that kind of
Sweet love
A love of my own
Is all evoked by
The woody smell
Whenever I sharpen pencils

Tower on the Ground

I actually wrote this in February... but it seemed like a good choice for today.

I am tower on the ground

I wonder how long I’ll be around
I hear the fading echo of my life
I see the hatred and the strife
I wish I wasn’t broken down
I am tower on the ground
 
I pretend that I can carry on
But I can’t help feeling something’s gone
I reach out for peace and unity
But I worry that no one can see
I cry out, but no one hears a sound
I am tower on the ground

I understand the fear and pain

But I still say that it’s insane
To throw away our dreams to be “safe”
I try to ring for the huddled masses
I hope somehow we can get past this
I am tower fallen to the ground

Renga: Summer

This one is a true renga (unlike my earlier solo renga), which means it is a collaborative poem where two (or more) people alternated verses.  This is one that I did with Nick Driscoll, one of my friends from college.  For those of you unfamiliar with this type of poem, rengas are a Japanese type of poem that alternate stanzas of 5-7-5 with 7-7's. Each stanza is written by a different person  (or by alternating people, in a group), and should be connected to the  stanza before and after it, but not the other stanzas. Also, each stanza is supposed to introduce a twist from the previous stanza....

Trickling water flows
Susurrating sweetly with
The wind. She listens.

The fan whooshes softly round
Lifts my hair with cooling breeze

Yet the rolling heat sizzles
Sweat breaks in sharp streaks
And I gasp as grass crisps brown.

Thunder booms and lightning streaks
But dark clouds still bring no rain

Like ebony smoke
Rumbling in the heat, dark shouts
The clouds bark and spit.

Hamburger patties look like
Charcoal briquettes after "foom"

Pizza Ranch

Whoops! the poem I originally posted had already been posted last year.    I took it down again, but you can find it under 2011 > July > "Those Were the Days".  Here's one you haven't seen before:

I like the atmosphere
Of the Pizza Ranch
It’s a down-home restaurant
With ten-year-old country
Piped in on the stereo
 
And because they’re only found
In my home state,
As soon as I stop at one,
I feel like I’m home again
Even when I’m still six hours away
 
The food doesn’t hurt, either
Fried chicken so good
Even my mom’s bought it
And the best pizza and cheese sticks
You ever ate in your life
 
Yessiree, bob
I like the Pizza Ranch

Words of the Sovereign

You are Sovereign
Your words create or negate
even life itself

A word: the sun shines!
An opened scroll: no light
remains; sun stricken.

A breath: man is born
Your tears for his sinfulness
drown the world entire

A son: born a-purpose
Cross: doomed to die; to kill death,
Rising as He said.

Life, death, all between
Nothing is outside control;
as You speak, things are.

All Creation Groans (And Me Too)

For those of you unfamiliar with the passage, I suggest that you read Romans 8:18-26 at some point. It has to do with what I'm going to write about, specifically the part where it talks about how all of creation got screwed up in the Fall and doomed to futility and frustration until God chooses to reveal the saints in their sonship-- in other words, until the earth is remade during the 1,000 year reign of Christ and everything bad is wiped away.

I wish that was today.

But it isn't, and until that day comes, all of creation will be groaning from the pain we're in while anticipating the coming of Christ.  The Bible compares it to giving birth.  Now, I've never actually given birth before, but I understand it's quite painful.  And that people are know to rant a bit.  So, here's my little monologue:

Over the past few days and nights, I've been hearing a lot of creation's groans: everything from trees creaking in the thunderstom to the noise of me having to jostle the lock around in my door, to the almost-silent tears of a kindergartener with a scraped knee, to the hacking coughs and now wheezy inhalations I make with allergies clogging my sinuses, draining into my chest, and generally making me miserable.  As I lay in bed listening to that new little wheeze this morning, I really didn't know what to do.

Part of me wanted to get up and start cleaning the house.  Let's vacuum and sweep, at least, I thought;  cleaner floor should mean less dust mites and other allergy triggers, right?  But then another part of me started arguing that lots of cleaning means chemicals, and chemicals=bad, and I really, really don't need my allergies acting up any more than they already are because I cleaned the bathroom and mopped the floor.  It's bad enough being awake for way too much of the night coughing without adding an itchy rash (which is usually just an annoyanc-e) into the mix.  I don't need that.

So then of course another little voice inside my head jumps in about how maybe I should trying praying my allergies away... only to be countered by my sarcastic side saying that if that worked, I'd have been allergy-free years ago.

And the end of the inner conversation with myself about allergies ended up being: Set it aside, go eat breakfast, do at least some chores, and then re-evaluate.  Because I'm sure if I was God, I'd be getting pretty sick of the whining about my allergies by now.  After all, it's not like I'm starving or anything.

But that decision to trust that God knows my problems without me whining about them in His ear every time I cough so hard my chest hurts or sneeze a line of snot down my chest right after I step out of the shower (which is not only disgusting, but highly annoying because I just got clean, for crying out loud!  Can't I even enjoy that for five freaking seconds?)-- that decision didn't seem to stick very well.  I dunno, sometimes I argue with myself out loud, but most of the time when I'm talking to the air in my apartment, it's really talking to God.  And maybe it has to do with the fact that I usually try to be cheerful at work, and there's nobody else in my apartment to whine to; maybe it's something to do with the fact that I've gotten used to talking to God and not engaging the verbal filter because (a)He knows my thoughts already and (b) He won't hate me no matter what I say; but the point is: I'm REALLY good at whining to God.  Seriously, if whining to God in prayer were an olympic sport, I'd be Michael Phelps.  God, why can't you just heal my allergies?  Please!  God, My nose hurts and my face hurts and my head hurts and thank you, God that my laptop was closed, because if I had sneezed all that crap ten seconds earlier, it would be toast.  But seriously God, what's the deal with neither of the Walmarts having the medicine I need?  If you're not going to heal me, you could at least put the stuff in place to help me control this.  You know, God, it would be really nice to be able to smell things once in a while.  And why is it always the nasty things that finally break through, huh?  I mean, the list of things I've smelled this summer goes like this: garbage, rotting meat, dirty diaper, skunk roadkill... oh, yeah, and that tree the other night that I got a pretty good whiff of right before I coughed hard enough that I ended up short of breath and then inhaled my cough drop until it got caught in my windpipe and I nearly choked to death on it before punching myself in the stomach trying to give myself the Heimlich managed to send it flying into the pavement.  Why can't I ever smell nice stuff, like the roses at Walmart, or my flowers on the front stoop, or even my mint plant?  Huh?  Or even stuff that it would be helpful to smell, like the one time my milk went bad and I didn't realize until after I took the first bite of the cereal I had poured it on?  Because, you know, normally that's considered a pretty strong smell.  And even though it's nasty, I probably would have preferred smelling to tasting.  And you know what God?  That resurrection body you promised me?  I would love to have that upgrade ASAP, but would you please make sure it's allergy-free first?

Where was I before I started the whining?  Oh, yeah.   Not sticking to the decision to try and stop whining about my allergies to God in ever-more-inventive ways.  I was back to that without even thinking about it in no time.

And now I feel guilty.

Not because it's wrong to talk to my Abba about my life.  Not even if I'm whining the whole time.  I don't feel guilty even so much for breaking my resolve to try to stop the whining.

I feel guilty because I've been acting as if the whole thing is about me, me, me.

Even Jesus prayed to be delivered from the things that hurt and bothered Him.  In the garden, He's recorded praying that if it's the Father's will, please don't let Him be killed like this.  But then He also prays for His disciples and for all those who will believe.  He chooses to submit to the Father's will and accept His pain as necessary; but then He also chooses to think of others.

I don't think I've ever once asked God how I could use my allergies for His glory.  I don't think I've ever even asked how I could use them to help others.  Maybe it's just my limited understanding of God's ways, but until today, I never even stopped to think that if God has a plan for me, and God created my body just the way He wanted it, flaws and all, then maybe there's a reason and a use for my allergies.  Didn't the Lord say, “My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.” ?

So, God, if there is a way to use these allergies for You, please point it out.  And if you choose to make them like the man born blind, who you spoke about after he was healed saying that he had the infirmity so Your power could be revealed in Your healing of him-- well, that would be excellent.  But if you have other plans, I will try not to whine about them so much and I wll try to think of others more.

I will, because obedience feels good.  I will, because when I surrender, I find peace, and peace is good.

Choices

I forget, sometimes
it's my choice; no one else's
to click, or not to click on pointless links
to dwell, or not to dwell in bitterness
to think well of others when I have no proof
 
it's my choice; no one else's
to lie, or to tell the uncomfortable truth
to glad-hand, or to take the time to know someone
to choose integrity when it doesn't seem to pay
 
it's my choice; no one else's

to                                                                                            
by saying "it's all good"
or to take a stand
for a belief that we can do so much more
than just put up with each other for the next forty years;
we can live forever in perfect peace and unity
 
it's my choice to say it
it's your choice
to agree, or not
 
but considering what you're being offered,
wouldn't you like me to at least speak up about your options?

haiku: Thunderous Praise

with brilliance beyond
coronal mass emissions,
let His praise burst forth

haiku: 3 Things

These three things I know:
though I sin, God will forgive,
His love has no end.

American Lie

So, uh, here's a rather bitter little ditty I wrote this February to the tune of “American Pie” by Don McLean. And it came to mind when I heard someone older than myself whining bitterly about how if they voted Republican in the upcoming election, it would mean a death sentence for Social Security and Medicare with the budget overhaul.... yaddy, yaddy, yaddy... and I couldn't help wondering if this person has somehow managed to ignore the fact that Social Security's been in a death spiral ever since the boomers started to retire, because Hello! more money going out than coming in. And I also found myself wondering, who was the more selfish in this scenario: him or me. He wants to get the Social Security benefits he's been promised his entire life and paid into his entire life, even though that will cause others to pay in while never getting anything back; I'd just as soon kill the whole program now so I don't have to pay more into it without getting a return on my money, because no matter when the thing dies, I'll never see a penny (and I've pretty much known that since I was 16) and whoever loses out will be pissed about that. So, if you're going to have tons of pissed off people who aren't getting their money no matter how this goes down, why drag it out?

And yeah, there's some voter disillusionment going on here; I really don't like either of the main two presidential candidates, and I don't care for our two-party system, and I think Congress needs to be forced to >gasp< WORK TOGETHER... and I am actually kind of angry with the founding fathers for changing the way things were in the beginning, because maybe if they had forced the elected politicians to work together in spite of being from different parties (like Adams [D-R] and his VP Jefferson [F]) instead of rewriting the Constitution (Amendment 12). Also, if everyone was running on their own merits and platforms, it's much harder to keep the strict two-party system going.  And much easier to get an independent with some new ideas on how to fix the eyesore that is our government in....

And if you made it through that  rant and still want to keep going, here's the poem:

Verse 1

When I was young, they told me
The jobs were right where I wanted to be
Just do my best, and everything’d be fine
So I got straight A’s and an honors cord
Took the 5-step success plan, but was ignored
Got told no one’s hiring at this time
I kept on applying, but came home hungry
Dismissed it seemed by all and sundry
And each day temping, trying to get by
Blended into the next, ‘til the well was dry
And there was nothing left to do but realize
That everything they told me was a lie
All of my efforts couldn’t change my life
The day that my hope died
 
Chorus:
Why, why keep up the American lie?
You say there’s opportunity, but I know it died
And all of us, in parks and streets side by side
Just want to make something of life
But all our hopes have died
 
Verse 2
Well the years have gone by and I’m still here
To me it seems perfectly clear
Writing résumés won’t help you survive
The rejection letters all look the same
And all that changes is the name
If they even acknowledge you’re alive
Many won’t even call you now
Or email, let you know somehow
You’re worth more to management
Than a parachute from the government
Since Walmart says “overqualified”
Others claim “structure reorganized”
None of them willing to let you even try
The day that our hopes died
So…
 
Chorus:
Why, why keep up the American lie?
You say there’s opportunity, but I know it died
And all of us, in parks and streets side by side
Just want to make something of life
But all our hopes have died
 
Verse 3
The one percent get richer each day
Playing golf while we slave away
Making more in an hour than we make in a year
And those who achieve the American dream
Don’t exist anymore, or so it seems
The bank took the house we held so dear
Minimum wage won’t cover the bills
Medicaid plans won’t pay for surgery or pills
And no there’s no unemployment for folks with a letter
To say they’ll hire you back when times get better
Thousands“laid off” and never rehired
Our military’s mostly been “early retired”
And it’s just another phrase that really means “fired”
On the day that our hopes died
So…
 
Chorus:
Why, why keep up the American lie?
You say there’s opportunity, but I know it died
And all of us, in parks and streets side by side
Just want to make something of life
But all our hopes have died
 
Verse 4:
“Give me your tired, your huddled masses”
Doesn’t make sense when there’re no passes
To get you through the fences and checkpoints
And it feels like a state of martial law
When riding a plane gets you scanned and pawed
Trying to censor the internet disappoints
Because that’s no way to catch a crook
By taking his name out of the phonebook
And shooting the man for the flyer on his car
Won’t kill the distributor from afar
It doesn’t help any that Congress won’t pass
Laws that apply equally to them and our class
They just get lobbyist bribes and cover their own ass
Now all our hopes have died
So…
 
Chorus:
Why, why keep up the American lie?
You say there’s opportunity, but I know it died
And all of us, in parks and streets side by side
Just want to make something of life
But all our hopes have died
 
Chorus 2:
Oh,
Why, why keep up the American lie?
You say there’s opportunity, but I know it died
And all of us alone, though we share the same ride
Just want to make something of life
But all our hopes have died

Sparrows in a Cemetery

The sparrows rise
From graves to bushes
From bushes to trees
And back to the stone-spangled ground
 
And as they rise,
And as they descend
I hear a whisper
That not one of these falls
Apart from the will of Our Father
 
Not the eighteen-year private
Whose Army Division is given
Not the old woman
Who outlived her husband by thirty years
Not even the baby
Whose headstone lists her age
As "One year, three months, seven days"
 
And it's hard for me to fathom
Why some died old
And some did not
But as a sparrow flutters past,
I choose once more to trust

Gravestones & Memories

Cemeteries are houses
For old memories
If we visited them
To really visit the dead,
We'd want to see their bodies
Like those macabre bugs:
Stuck in a piece of
Transparent plexiglass
Frozen forever
As they looked while alive
 
But we don't want that
We know they are gone;
If they still looked alive,
It wouldn't change that.
 
So we go and we look at a stone
A stone that says "Father" or "Mother"
A stone that says "Beloved"
A stone with dates and a name
That bring to our minds
The person who lived between those dates
Who wore that name
 
But as soon as the family
Go to graves of their own,
Nothing is left but a weathered stone
And no one is left to weep for the lost
Except for the Father in Heaven, alone.

Concerning Princes, Paparazzi, and People in General

I'm sick of hearing about it.  That's why I'm writing this.  Maybe, if I put this on my blog, people will stop bringing it up as a topic of conversation anymore.  At least with me.

Then again, maybe I'm nuts.  But still, I wish to say the following...

To Prince Harry:
On behalf of the American people, I'd like to apologize that your privacy was invaded while you were visiting us.  What you do behind closed doors in your own hotel room is none of our business, and I am sorry that some people have forgotten this.

To the Paparazzo responsible for the current "Naked Prince" pictures:
You should be ashamed of yourself.  If it's not bad enough being a Peeping Tom, you took pictures and sold them.  That's disgusting, and in my opinion, using someone else in this way without their knowledge puts you on a level with child pornographers.  And frankly, I'm somewhat surprised that you haven't been brought up on charges, because in this country we have laws prohibiting people from profiting from their crimes-- even if it involves some of their own work.  Your photos are no different than a murderer's tell-all book in that manner-- they are evidence of your crime.

To the Consuming Public, including but not limited to:
All the little fangirls screaming their heads off over pictures of "Naked Prince Harry!"
Everyone buying the magazines for something to gossip over
All the people who bought the magazines and newspapers to "stay informed of current events", who then spent the next two weeks looking down their noses and talking scathingly about the prince
And everyone else who has acted like "What happened in Vegas" is the biggest news of the summer:

Congratulations, you have just paid someone (through the magazine middlemen) to be a peeping tom and take dirty pictures.

YOU are the reasons that the paparazzi act the way they do.  They stalk people and invade their privacy to take pictures of them because they are sure that YOU will buy them.  If you take away the demand for such things, they'll stop.

And really, where is your common sense and decency?  Think about how you would feel if you were the prince-- if you were in your hotel room, would you feel that you had the right to do as you wish without strangers watching?  Even play a game of strip poker or lay around in your birthday suit?  I know that I would.  And I would feel violated if someone was peeping in the windows and taking pictures of me without my knowledge, even if I was fully dressed.  This was a horrendous violation of privacy-- not just because the prince was naked (although that exacerbates it), but because he was in a place where he was within his rights to have an expectation of privacy.

Furthermore, the prince is in the spotlight all the time.  Think for a second about what that means.  Many people, maybe even most people, get nervous about giving even a ten-minute speech, during which everyone is judging how they look, how they speak, and how they act.  A lot of people like to have powerpoints filled with interesting pictures and graphics so that the audience will be paying attention to the slides rather than them.  Now, take that feeling of nervousness, and multiply it exponentially, because as a prince, Harry is in the spotlight all day, every day when he's in public, and he doesn't even get the powerpoint to distract everyone.  Is it really so much to ask that when he goes home at the end of the day he should be able to have a break from that?  I don't think so.

So, in conclusion, let's stop accusing the prince of acting stupid, and put our anger and indignation where it belongs.

Joel 2:31

How strange it is
That this blue moon
Should rise
A full blood red
It seems to me
This moon cries out
To souls everliving,
And those not dead.

"Come!" she calls. "Listen to me!
Hearken, and hear my cry!
Wait not until the day is come;
The time swiftly passes by!"

How strange it is
That men ask for signs
Signs which
They then ignore
But soon shall come
The time foretold
When forth,
Heaven's army shall pour.