on the Virtue in Lumpy Dick

Again, it is the end ,

Of the month.

She has stretched the pay, 

Tightly now, nearly to break.

Once more there will be meat, 

Next month

For know there is Lumpy Dick.

She may have cooked it first,

On the banks of the West Cache Canal,

Near Winder Idaho.

In the one room cabin, near where father

Grew crops,  sufficient, to feed the clan.

She is the one who mother's them now,

And then, after Eva and their mom departed.

I know little of it's contents, 

Mostly boiled milk and flour,

Perhaps, flavored with molasses or drippings.

It may have had the texture 

Of wallpaper paste.

If visitors arrived mid-meal

Water would be added.

There was always just, and enough,

Lumpy Dick.

She is that way, this she then feels,

The need, and always to mother.

So if the gruel, was thin,

It was always shared,

With love for all.

The Addition

Such a strange feature,
this, for a tractor. 

Newly installed it, he,
a few weeks ago. 

It came not from the factory,
such a thing. 

Some came with air conditioning,
and nice sound systems. 

Four-wheeled jukebox, on wheels. 

Why the need for such a thing?

When purchased, decades ago,
no one imagined such a need.

He would farm and she,
would care for the children.

When she left, the little ones remained.

The older ones, in school would be,
thus, the littlest one, 
his constant companion,

then becomes.

Hence the need,
for an infant seat

on making poetry

“Dear Xavier High School, and Ms. Lockwood, and Messrs Perin, McFeely, Batten, Maurer and Congiusta:

I thank you for your friendly letters. You sure know how to cheer up a really old geezer (84) in his sunset years. I don’t make public appearances any more because I now resemble nothing so much as an iguana.

What I had to say to you, moreover, would not take long, to wit: Practice any art, music, singing, dancing, acting, drawing, painting, sculpting, poetry, fiction, essays, reportage, no matter how well or badly, not to get money and fame, but to experience becoming, to find out what’s inside you, to make your soul grow.

Seriously! I mean starting right now, do art and do it for the rest of your lives. Draw a funny or nice picture of Ms. Lockwood, and give it to her. Dance home after school, and sing in the shower and on and on. Make a face in your mashed potatoes. Pretend you’re Count Dracula.

Here’s an assignment for tonight, and I hope Ms. Lockwood will flunk you if you don’t do it: Write a six line poem, about anything, but rhymed. No fair tennis without a net. Make it as good as you possibly can. But don’t tell anybody what you’re doing. Don’t show it or recite it to anybody, not even your girlfriend or parents or whatever, or Ms. Lockwood. OK?

Tear it up into teeny-weeny pieces, and discard them into widely separated trash receptacals. You will find that you have already been gloriously rewarded for your poem. You have experienced becoming, learned a lot more about what’s inside you, and you have made your soul grow.

God bless you all!"

Kurt Vonnegut

The son he was mourning

He was thinking about Lucifer,
this his child.

The son of the morning,

Or was he,
the son he was mourning.

How then to redeem Lucifer?
This then his child.
The son he was mourning.

He would, if a way could be found.
Redeem Lucifer. 

How many times had he walked?
in the Heavens,
in the cool of the morning,
with Lucifer near his side.

He loved all of his creation,
but the children held a place, special
Next to, his heart. 

It was Lucifer who caused,
this great loss.

Lucifer the author of his own,
damnation.

It was Lucifer who placed himself,
beyond redemption,
not God the Father,
of all creation.

How then to mourn, the loss?
This then day of Lucifer.

The son he was mourning.

let there be no monument

When I die,

let there be no monument.

Let there be no place to visit,

my grave.

Let their be no green grass

for the sexton to mow.

May I be forgotten,

to be remembered no more.

No place to plant,

the flowers, or mourn my loss.

To be forgotten forever more.

Let my monument be the lives,

of my children and grandchild.

Scatter my ashes among my ancestors,

in Grants Ward, where I will be with them, again.

To forever be with Grandma Lauretta,

and her final child.

With momma and my youngest sibling.

To be remembered by them,

forever more.

A Covenant Renewed

The Cloud

The Rainbow 

The sign in the Heavens.

What then of the Covenant,

renewed.

It was not the first rainbow,

seen.

Why then, now a renewal,

sign?

On the Third Day, God separated,

waters above, and below.

Above it falls, splitting the light,

thus created the bow, above,

the below.

Yet man was not, 

to till, the soil.

Then come Adam and Eve,

a promise and a covenant,

begins, anew.

When Cain murders Abel, 

then begins, a descent, 

Into chaos.

With the times of sin and death,

comes the end, in destruction.

God will Baptize the Earth,

with water.

After flood comes rebirth,

Noah then a new Adam,

and the Covenant becomes,

renewed this day.

The rainbow then,

a sign of renewal,

as the bread and wine,

are a renewal, today.

The Final Gift

The undertakers have left, 

their work accomplished.

Leaving Nora and Eva, sisters,

alone.

In those days, bodies,

were prepared at home

on the kitchen table.

Tomorrow will be the viewing,

and the funeral.

Eva, the older sister,

and surrogate mom.

After the loss of mother,

and the final baby.

Now Nora will nurture,

the ones, that remain.

Chauncey will come,

to live with her and Leo,

later, after their wedding.

For now their remained,

this one task.

To redress the body,

with all her underclothes.

It was not right for Eva to go

into the next life,

not fully clothed.

So Nora redressed,

her sister.

Thus the final offering

they shared.

This is a true story; Nora told her Daughter-in-law Anne Herzog the first thing she did when the undertaker left was to redress her sister.  Nora did not want Eva to go to the next life without her top garment, so Nora redressed her body with a proper bra. 

On misunderstandings

He pursued her,

on a misunderstanding.

For under a year, he sought, 

a helpmate.

This would be the year, he would,

find her.

The father knew,
of a special woman,
at work.

She was seeking a better quality,

boyfriend.

The father could be relentless,

an annoying.

Father, said she was waiting,

for his call.

So to satisfy Father, he would,

call her.

She agreed; the onetime,

to attend, the event.

Thus to keep, Father

from annoying her, at work.

He knew not, her fear.

Of water.

Six months later, they,

were joined for Eternity.

Years later, he discovered,

she vowed never to marry, 

one of, his sons.

She who's stands

I once heard it said, in jest,

wife renders, in sanskrit,

She who's stands, 

in opposition.

I am blessed by a woman,

who remains in opposition,

to correct my course,

and reminds me when,

I am full of shit.

God honored his heart

I hear this day,

a new word,,

of understanding.

In the King James

he hardened,

Pharaoh's heart.

The same word is used

by the  Hebrews,

in the commandment,

to honor your mother,

and father.

So God honored the desire,

of the Pharaoh, to oppress, 

his Hebrew subjects.

He strengthened 

the Pharaoh's free will,

and choice.

Let this be a warning,

to you this day,

watch your desires,

and wishes, because,

God may honor them too.

As he honored, 

the free will and choice

of Christ and Lucifer,

in the first great council.

On Racing Toward Catastrophe

I saw them today,

racing up a hill,

towards catastrophe.

Like a group of lemmings,

in a Disney, documentary,

or a caboose faithfully,

following, it engine,

off a collapsed bridge.

I am unable to turn back,

this sea of humanity

Their are cars, boats,

and truck's returning,

from a victorious, 

weekend.

Someone at the top,

just beyond the summit,

is a having the worst day,

of their life.

The RV returning from,

an adventure, is now aflame, 

and I find, I am unable,

to reverse this sea,

of humanity.

gratitude accomplished

How does one reach for,

and obtain gratitude.

This I ask, 

again today.

It is like love,

when pursued,

evades.

This many years,

of service,

does it demand.

No answer, this day.

Still, enjoy I, this gift,

once more.

on resting this day

I awoke this morning,

thinking this may be the day

I overcome, yesterday.

At the end of this day

I find I may,

have been mistaken.

I promised, this morning,

on arising, more compassion

patience, and wisdom.

All you heard was my loud shouting,

and anger with the children,

for failing to conform,

to my expectations.

Unhappiness,

with the breakfast,

when i remembered not,

the baby with teething pain,

that remained awake all night.

So again I come to you, tonight,

hat in hand seeking forgiveness,

and one more day of grace,

this day.

on his life's work

I went to visit with Mom today, 

she wasn't there,

so I sat amongst  his life's,

work,

"The world will little note, 

nor long remember what we say here, 

but it can never forget what they did here."

He was a simple and vulgar man.

He often had trouble, crawling out,

of that whiskey bottle

Never did he create anything substantial,

in the eyes of the world.

Dead at 60 doing the one thing,

that brought him joy,

dancing with his beloved bride.

He spent his final decades,

in service to the good people of his town,

providing them a final resting, place.

Can their be any job, more vulgar,

then a gravedigger?

 

Leo Jesse Herzog, my maternal grandfather,

and gravedigger, most of those graves he dug,

with a shovel, pick and axe.

I wonder then, did he dig,

his own mother's,  grave?

Abraham Lincoln's Gettysburg Address

It is to be understood, vulgar refers to the lower or peasant class, in the sense of a serf.

more beautiful, then today

He saw her there, this morning.

behind the counter,

of the gas station.

She must have risen early,

to begin the morning shift,

her hair all beautifully formed.

She had always been this beautiful,

to him,

He often wondered why,

she selected him.

He had seen her mornings,

in the days before,

when she dyed her hair,

and permed it, so it would take a curl,

from the iron.

He had seen her,

with a burbing cloth, on her back,

from the newborn's, her and mom raised,

together.

Following the example of a mom,

who in her golden years,

had a pail of cloth diapers,

soaking in, the bathroom.

Now there is the grandchild,

she and a daughter are nurturing,

this day.

Comforting this grandchild,

who has emptied his stomach,

Into her lap.

That child then following,

like a young duckling,

as she heads to the bedroom,

to clean up.

Her hair is in silver now,

on part from accident,

that restricted a dye job,

and partly as a gift to him,

as he loved her natural beauty.

Yes she had never been more beautiful,

to him, today.

Updated July 7 2024

The case for the 8-track

It was there, in the backseat,

of momma's car,

the case for the 8-track.

Momma drove,

one of the last,

large block jukeboxes,

Detroit ever made.

Bill Lear created the format,

A decade before, this day.

It played one hour,

of continuous music,

from that mobile jukebox.

Before it was am radio

you listened to the music,

programed, by the D.J.

Then record players,

but these skipped,

based on the condition,

of the road,

But 8-track, if not rewindable,

was still portable.

You could join the Columbia Record Company,

and for a penny get 8 of these beauties.

Momma played them on longs drives,

with window down,

and the cigarettes she keep hidden

in the jockey box.

Momma needed this break,

with the new discoveries.

Money missing from the credit union

or his latest fling at.work.

So if momma needed music,

and a cigarette,

to understand Daddy,

a case could be made,

for the 8-track.

On the town triangle

On occasion Nora visited,

the town triangle,

in Kemmer WY.

Their a sister,

of marriage but not birth,

lived, nearby.

Who knows or remembers,

why

Maybe to.eacape the deaths

of Leo and Nada,

a husband and daughter,

taken too soon.

In Kemmer there was,

the former Golden Rule Store, 

the J.C.Penney estate,

and the mother store refounded,

a couple decades before.

on the three corners

of the town, triangle.

Between these were the bars,

of the infamous bar crawl.

Late night, Nora and her sister,

would put their young ones,

to bed and then begin

the bar crawl.

When the young ones knew,

Nora and the sister had began,

a bar crawl, one bar ahead,

of Nora, and the sister,

they would begin a bar crawl.

When it became time for Nora,

and sister to change bars,

friends on the look out,

would send them out the back,

to the next bar.

Nanny told me many times,

of this story, while growing up.

Not sure why this story matters,

or why nanny shared it,

but I share it with you,

with a wink and smile,

for you, to share.

Joseph Smith on forgiveness

"If you do not accuse each other, God will not accuse you. If you have no accuser you will enter heaven, and if you will follow the revelations and instructions which God gives you through me, I will take you into heaven as my back load. If you will not accuse me, I will not accuse you. If you will throw a cloak of charity over my sins, I will over yours — for charity covereth a multitude of sins." (Joseph Smith, DHC 4:445)

Essay on a poem and a change of views

 My birthday is coming up, I was born on July 6,1965. I was my mother's only child born in the summer and in the afternoon. The following day the nurse discovered that I had a clean diaper and that was a bad discovery.  I was born without an anal opening.  Without surgical intervention, I would not live another week.  So, my aunt Anne Herzog and Uncle Deloye drove Dad and me down to the Primary Childrens Hospital in Salt Lake City to see a surgeon.  The surgeon discovered that my body was complete I just required a small slit to make an opening in my anus so I could defecate.  All of my experience since then has been on bonus time.

When I was a month old my parents were sealed, along with my brother Carl, and I, in the Logan LDS Temple. For the previous year, my parents had been participating in Project Temple in preparation for this day. They had married young.  It was a shotgun wedding.  My mother was pregnant but she had lost that first child. When my mother miscarried that first child both sets of parents had urged them to wait until after graduation to marry.  My parents would not hear of it so they both dropped out of high school and a marriage ceremony was arranged. This led to a very rocky start for their marriage.

My father never emotionally mature beyond about 14 years of age.  Both my dad and his father had an undiagnosed form of high-functioning autism with a touch of hyperactivity. These are things I never understand until I was in my late 40’s. For decades I was deeply angry with my mother for the way she raised me. My mother had her own emotional issues as well.  As the child of an alcoholic who had been sexually abused by a close male relative at a young age, she had real problems with physical intimacy that were separate from the sexual act. She also did not trust my dad around other women, when they were separate, for a good reason.

The combination of these two factors left me strongly attracted to my parents if emotionally at a distance. My mom and I were always in a dance, one pulling in while the other pulled away.  We played this dance for decades until her death.  It was near her death when I felt if I lost my mother that I would lose half of my mothers going back to Mother Eve that I felt the pull to repair this relationship with my mother.  To try the dance once more hopefully, both of us come into this dance for the final embrace.

I sat down and had a conversation where I told her how deeply hurt and angry, I was for the way she raised me, but now as a parent who had made his own mistake, with my children, I was beginning to see things from her point of view. I then ask her about what would happen to my father after her death. That is when my mother signed a will giving everything to Debra. I knew that I and Debra could then plan for my father’s welfare after my mother’s death.

For the first couple of years after my mother’s death, I sister Annette was in charge of Dad’s finances and she did a great job. Saving enough of Dad’s money that she could pay to reroof the garage.  It soon became too much for her when her Multiple sclerosis (MS) became too severe for her to care for Dad.  That is when I knew that it was now my turn.  I and my wife were certain, that I did not have the skills needed to manage his finances, but I pulled on my big boy pants and did it anyway.

It was in managing my fathers’ finances that I began to understand my mother’s world.  My Dad was much better at spending money than he was at earning it. I develop some online tools, with the help of the Logan Medical Federal Credit Union that me to restrict Dad’s spending habits.  This I left sufficient means in his saving account to cover his weekly pocket money while I paid the bills.  I also found he was paying extra for health insurance which was a bonus and so I canceled it. I was able to move him to better health insurance with a lower monthly cost and with better coverage.

One winter when the snow storms were at their worst my wife ask me to stay with him and come home when the weather was better. That slowing evolved over time into living with him full-time and his health declined. I would then call her nightly or leave her a text message when she got off work.  I began taking her for dinner dates on the weekend, which I had never done as the children were growing up. In a strange way, this only improved our personal relationship.

In the end, after I finished my Dad’s hospice care,I sold his house, divided the inheritance, and moved home with my wife again.

This may seem like a strange introduction to a poem about George III and a British King but it is important. Growing up I had one view of George III taught in my history classes and now I have another view of his participation in the American Revolution. My views on George III have evolved as my understanding of my relationship with my parents has evolved.

George III (George William Frederick; 4 June 1738 – 29 January 1820) inherited the British throne from his father and grandfather. Though he was a British king he was a Germain prince.  George I (George Louis; German: Georg Ludwig; 28 May 1660 – 11 June 1727) George I first had inherited the British throne after the death of his second cousin Anne Queen of Great Britain. 

As part of the Glorious Revolution of 1688, the parliament had overthrown and displaced the nominally Catholic King James II, brother of Charles II.  They then selected William of Orange as their next king.  His wife was the daughter of James II's first wife.  Part of the agreement is William could reign but not rule and in exchange, the English would support his fight with the Spanish to free the Netherlands.

If George III could reign but not overrule his parliament. If he had supported his American Colonist in opposition to his Parliament then his sons and grand-sons could then become tyrants and not constitutional monarchs.

on being a Germain prince

He was born a Germain prince. 

He, his father, and grandfather,
had ruled Great Britain,
as English Monarchs,
and Germain Princes. 

Part of the constitutional compromise,
in the English Revolution. 

As a Constitutional Monarch,
he may reign, but not rule. 

It was a representative government,
if not a democratic one, 
a rare thing in the world,
of his day. 

He stood, in a place,
between his English Subjects,
and the American Colonists. 

He had been tutored and trained,
that as a Constitutional Monarch,
he. must not be a tyrant. 

If in opposition to his parliament,
he sided with the American Colonists,
his son and grandsons,
could then become tyrants. 

How then to solve, this disagreement,
between his subjects, and his parliment
was his quandary this day.

"On the morning of his nativity"

Milton's writes,

"On the morning of his nativity"

of a visit to the Christ child,

on the morning of his birth,

and the gift, from the muze.

Nephi writes his small plates,

after reviewing his larger plates,

of the struggle with his brothers,

and the loss, of family,

unity.

I now review 8 years of blogs,

of the poetry, and essay's,

and church talks.

I need to share,

what I fear most,

the lessons I have learned,

and the trials I have endured.

That I like Nephi and Milton,

may share my testimony,

of the risen Lord.

on being a Germain prince

He was born a Germain prince.

He, his father, and grandfather,

had ruled Great Britain

as English Monarchs,

and Germain Princes.

Part of the constitutional compromise,

in the English Revolution.

As a Constitutional Monarch,

he may reign, but not rule.

It was a representative government,

if not a democratic one, 

a rare thing in the world

of his day.

He stood, in a place,

between his English Subjects,

and the American Colonists.

He had been tutored and trained,

that as a Constitutional Monarch

he. must not be a tyrant.

If in opposition to his parliament,

he sided with the American Colonists,

his son and grandsons,

could then become tyrants

How then to solve, this disagreement

between his subjects,

was his quandary.

George III was the English King during the American Revolution. As a Germain Prince, he still ruled his Germain lands, Duke of Brunswick-Lüneburg, and prince-elector of Hanover.

On Momma and the Nanny

Where are Momma and Nanny today,
He "aks".

For 18 years they shared a bedroom,
then they shared a family.

How does one describe Momma,
and the Nanny.

There is pizza,
and roller skating, 
Bear Lake and Donnatta Hot Springs.

Shared family loss,
at an early age. 

The death of,
Nada, Ken, Leo, Fred, and David,
sister, sister's husband, father, brother, nephew.

Fertility, Infertility,
Nanny really wanted babies,
Momma feared the birth,
of too many;.

Family vacations,,
Daddy on one side of the bed,
Nanny on the other and Momma,
in the middle.

After the death of Nanny's husband,
on vacation together, in Fort Bridger,
the man accused Daddy, 
of being a polygamist.

Country Music, dancing, baking bread,
laughter and tears.

Shared intimacy need not imply,
un-celibacy,.

Nanny never desired Momma's husband,
only her babies.

So a life they did share,
and the babies too. 

Now together they share Eternity.

Momma, the Nanny,
and now Nanny's Babies.

unhappily Celibate

I have remained unhappily Celibate,

For the better part of two decades.

To be a happily married,

Celibate, heterosexual male,

is a mixed bag.

My brother has been unhappily, 

non-celibate, heterosexual male,

for even longer then that.

He has burned through four marriages,

and at least twice that many relationship,

in his non-celibacy.

His second wife reminded me,

of a cross between Morticia Adams,

and a hooker.

Why I have remained Celibate,

I am uncertain?

My last experience of un-celibacy,

was not a good experience,

for my partner,

so I remain un-happily Celibate.

Our first experience of un-celibacy,

bonded us, like two ducks, or swan's,

in an Eternal embrace.

There is sufficient emotional bonding,

with my partner, that I value it

above all other relationships,

even if I must remain,

unhappily Celibate.

On the Coke bottle.

There it sits,

among her most cherished,

possessions, a Coke bottle,

The president of Coca Cola,

produced a new formula,

for New Coke.

Tested unlabeled,

he had indeed,

improved it's flavor.

Released to world,

immediately was it hated,

by it's fans.

They had loved it.

for decades,

and would not tolerate,

this change.

Released then was it, again,

in its classic form.

He purchased this Classic Coke,

rebottled, by the Yazoo Bottling Company,

on that Mississippi Delta,

while serving, the good saints,

he longs for, now.

She knows, though little understood,

by the both of them, 

why it important, to him.

So she cares for this little bottle,

for decades now, as she cares for him,

for their children,

and the keepsakes from her childhood.

On the restoration of the family

My ancestors came not,

from foreign places,

to restore a priesthood,

or a church.

They came to restore a family, 

The House of Israel.

Men in foxholes fight,

for other men in foxholes

not for King, and country.

Adam and Eve experienced,

the first broken,

family.

My family crossed the ocean,

and the great plains,

to restore their ancestors.

So I will continue their work,

this day as i seek

to restore the family,

of God

Nora, Howard, and the barn

Nora and Howard met in the barn.

Howard's wife a farmhand,

not a housekeeper.

She preferred animal husbandry,

so housework was kept,

at a survival level.

Nora ask Howard,

why are we meeting in the barn?

Nora, you have seen my barn.

Yes.

You have seen my house.

Yes.

Then why are we meeting in the barn?

Yes, I see,

then said Nora.

"Not While I'm Around"

"Not while I'm around
Nothing's gonna harm you
No sir, not while I'm around"

He often confused, them,

the three, of them.

The mother, the nanny, and the spouse.

In his mind, they are the Trinity,

the Holy Trinity.

One gave him life,

one gave him love,

and one gave him the world.

Remove any leg of the stool,

and his life would spin apart.

He battled with the first,

for years, in an eternal embrace.

The second carried him, for years,

while he learned to trust the world.

The final became the base,

for the remainder of his life.

Did he protect them,

or did they nurture him?

This then the question,

in his mind,

today.

"Not While I am Around"

Stephen Sondheim, Sweeney Todd

Not While I'm Around

Momma, Nanny, and the dishes

His nanny often told him,

of the argument, 

long before she became,

the nanny.

They argued, often,

over the dishes.

Dating father, momma was,

coming over then was Lynn.

This continual argument,

over the dishes.

So tired, of the argument,

between the sisters,

over the dishes,

was Gramma, this day.

Just do the dishes Nance,

Grandma begged.

Grandma had a hard day,

cleaning rooms at the motel,

still too many mouths 

to feed this day.

Experience had taught Grandma,

speaking with Voyle, would not,

bring an end, to the argument.

For just this time of peace,

would the nanny just do the dishes,

to bring some rest,

to the family, this day?

I Nephi

"Having been born of goodly parents",
"I will go and do the things", ...

In my youth, 
I learned, of these scriptures. 

Now I am reminded, that the thing Nephi did,
was to take the life of a drunk, 
for the Torah, and A Book of Remembrance. 

I have done hard things.

Pray for the redemption of a family,
deeply mired in sin and corruption.

Served a mission among people, who desired not, 
what I had to share. 

Find a woman to share my life,
who held a temple recommend,
and honored my parents.

Paid a handmaiden, twice, 
to have an abortion, not.
So then, I could father a child.

Spend years visiting, a beloved one,
in a locked-down facility,
to remind him he was more,
than his crime. 

Find a gardener to plant,
a crop to preserve life,
of the one I adore.

Spend years living with a man,
and visiting my wife,
when he had no use for me, till I was nine.

I can and have done hard things,
Nephi did hard things,
you too can do hard things.

This I know, you can.

1 Nephi 1:1

1 Nephi 3:7

The Byington Brothers Bar Fight

This is the story, my uncle told me,
as I grew into a man.

On Saturday night,
I could be found,
at his dinner table,
playing cards, or a game of Risk.

After the game was over,
deep into the night,
he would tell me, the family lies.

Not sure how much of the story, was true,
and how much of the story was a myth,
designed to lead me into, manhood. 

The Byington brothers,
grew into manhood, in a one-room cabin,
In Winder Idaho, at the top of the West Cache Canel.

Growing up without a momma
can leave one cold and hard,
but also resilient and independent. 

On Saturday night, the Byngton brothers could be found,
sitting at a bar, quarreling amongst themselves. 

Perhaps it was The Bloody Bucket.

In those days, music was played,
on a Nicolodian, jukebox,
a song would be selected,
then a nickel was inserted. 

If a fresh nickel was inserted, before the end of play,
a new song replaced the current one.

One lady tried continually, to listen to her song.

Another patron, thereafter inserted his nickel,
ending her music selection.

One of the brothers warned the patron,
this action did not please him,
and the next time it happened,
he would clean his clock.

The patron headed not, this warning,
as the Byington brothers were then,
quarreling, at the bar, amongst themselves. 

So when the patron, failed to heed his warning,
the Byington brothers proceeded to clean his clock,
they then returned to the bar,
and continued quarreling amonst themselves.

So what was the point, of the story?

Family is family, and remains undivided,
to those outside the family, circle. 

It is okay, to quarrel with your brother,
but we must stand united, to defend the family,
from the outside. 

on momma's lilac bushes

I noticed them, today.

In returning,

From the yearly trip,

To clean the graves.

Growing they were, in front,

Of the home, where we raised,

The babies.

Momma's lilac bushes.

My wife and son,

Care for them now.

Once they stood, as a divider,

Between my Dad, and Mrs. Shiffman.

Yearly, Dad, would trim then back,

Partly, to clear the drive,

and partly to anger, the neighbor, lady.

The bush once stood,

as a point of division.

Now it stands as a symbol of union,

As my wife and son, together,

Nurture, momma's Lilac Bush.

On cleaning the graves

Why do they come?

Year, after year, after year,
they come.

These are graves, of people,
in life, they knew not, of ...

The deaths coming, years,
before their birth

They carry no memories, 
of sickness, weddings, or funerals.

No memories of the babies.

They mourn then not, from memories, of youth.

Like salmon, returning to spawn,
they return yearly, to clean the graves

To reward the children, they will return,
year, after year, after year, 
to Donnetta Hot Springs, to take a swim.

Donnetta was once owned by the family,
it is where they scalded pigs,
after the yearly slaughter.

They bring their memories,
of their grandmothers and grandfathers,
aunts, uncles, and cousins,

And their babies.

Year, after year, after year,
I bring my memories,
Of swimming, and picnics,
and meals being prepared,
and running with cousins,
and games of tackle football. 

I go there to recover lost memories,
it is one of the rare places,
on Earth, I felt nurtured, by Momma.

So year, after year, after year,
I shall return, to relive those memories
as I return home, to create new memories,
for my, babies. 

Between the urine and the feces

Anatomical it is correct,
the birth canal, being lodged between,

the Urethra and the Anus.

We come forth in the struggle.

We live in struggle,

We die in the struggle.

After the struggle to be free,

from our mom's birth canal,

we struggle to return,

to that of our mate.

The need to return is so strong,

that men will work for decades,

to form an intimate connection with a mate. 

Cleopatra used it to control an empire,

through a man.

Like all great powers, it can be used,

for good and evil.

With the first act, comes oxytocin,

the bonding of the male and female,

as one unit.

I became forever bonded,

with my mate, after this first act.

Even after decades of married,

heterosexual celibacy,

it is my first thought at rising,

and my last thought on ending the day.

My nannies in-laws kept a stool,

in the kitchen dedicated to the late-night,

performance of this task.

My first bonding came at a request, 

from my mate, to help her,

to make a baby.

I failed in that, task.

The hope is that you will use,

this incredible power,

to create life,

and to bond with your eternal mate,

as you raise your babies.   

Brutus speech

There is a tide in the affairs of men

Which, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune;

Omitted, all the voyage of their life

Is bound in shallows and in miseries.

On such a full sea are we now afloat;

And we must take the current when it serves,

Or lose our ventures.”

on being a rose, in Grants Ward

To survive a season,

In Grants Ward,

Hardy must one be.

The winters are harsh,

And cold.

Water enough, never,  their is.

In the winter, 

there is an abundance,

Of sleek and snow.

This is a time of storage,

When the roots need drive, deep,

Knowing summer is coming,

And the moisture,

Comes not again,

Until fall.

In spring the family comes,

To clean and service,

The graves.

They trowel around these roots,

I have carefully, driven, deep,

In the ground.

They uncover the headstone,

To remark the graves,

By rounding up the Earth,

As there mama and papa,

Taught them to do,

So long ago.

They leave me then,

to  watch over and adorn,

These graves.

Rarely do they come again,

In this year.

In the later spring,

They come not, to see,

my small roses,

that I create, then, 

to decorate, the graves.

As long as I am able,

I will continue to monitor,

And adorn these graves,

They have so lovingly, served,

These many years.

On being my son, almost

He was my son, then,
almost.

He was the first son,
of my heart,
of my life,
of my soul.

The first sibling was he, naught.

The first sibling had been given,
as a gift to another family. 

I learned of his life,
long after the gift had been given.

He was offered as a gift,
to my wife.

Being single with no committed, prospect,
this gift had been declined. 

Shortly after our marriage, I learned,
of personal infertility.

Then shortly after that, came the birth,
of the second son.

He would have been our gift,
but Grandpa loved him first.

To accept this gift,
would be to end,
the life of a man, I adored.

So I watched this son, from afar.

Seeking then, every chance,
to continue to bless his life,
I revered him, from afar. 

In his youth, many troubles, he experienced.

Some troubles require the intervention of a judge,
for many years, we visited him, in a secure facility. 

This facility offered him choice and growth.

With this change, he experienced new joy
and deepened his relationships with his siblings.

Many years have passed and think,
I still, of this son.

Even in his death, I see hope and joy.

Our daughter has named her son,
in honor of his memory.

I hope they meet again someday,
and my grandson sees the joy,
I feel in the memory,
of the first son, of my heart.

On Being Patricius

Patricius,
Fifth century, Romano-British missionary.

Not born a slave,
born a grandson of a Christian Bishop.

Born free and then enslaved,
captured by Irish raiders,
taken, to care for sheep.

Escaped, six years later, no longer,
a slave.

Returns again, to his beloved Ireland,
there to serve the remainder of his days.

With him, comes Christianity,
knowledge, and learning. 

One generation, or two,
out of Paganism and human sacrifice. 

He instills a love in them,
a love of literature, art, and learning,
then a desire to serve, all mankind.

They begin to capture and copy books,
as they arrive in Ireland, 
and build vast libraries, from the skins,
of the sheep Patricus tended,
as a youth.

With the destruction of Western Roman Civilization,
and their libraries, the Irish Pagans, now Christian missionaries,
are then prepared to restore, this learning and knowledge,
to the world.

This, then, is a marvelous work,
it begins, among men

"Therefore, behold, I will proceed to do a marvelous work among this people, even a marvelous work and a wonder: for the wisdom of their wise men shall perish, and the understanding of their prudent men shall be hid." Isiah 29:14

on making a baby

I failed the first request,

To help her make a baby.

on our second night together,

as a couple.

The first night had been, 

a pajama night.

I was aware, 

before we wed,

she had an infertility issue.

Many more times, we sought,

and failed to create a baby,

together.

We were not aware of my,

infertility issue.

We would discover this fact,

after six more months,

together.

Together we have been, now,

for three decades.

We have raised two babies,

together.

The gift from the handmaiden,

who loved us four.

Together, with her parents,

we raised two more, babies.

Together as one family unit.

Now we help our daughter and son,

to raise one more baby,

a gift to us all. 

May you enjoy your gift,

of the babies.

If God or the handmaiden,

to you, have not provided such a gift.

I hope you discover joy,

in helping other parents,

to raise their babies.

in his perfection

Be ye therefore perfect

Was this then not 

the commandment?

My one year old grandson

Is perfect.

He crawls perfectly.

He eats perfectly.

He nurses perfectly.

Today at dinner 

he ate ketchup perfectly,

By the handful.

He empties his mouth perfectly

Like his grandmother instructs him too

If he wants down from the table

Spit out on the high chair table,

With mischievous look on his face.

I hope my Eternal Parents

see my perfection,

in the same way, 

As I struggle to be like them,

As my grandson struggles,

Tobe, like me.

she held him to her breast

What then, 

of the human, 

breast?

She reminded him,

then, of it's proper use,

and function.

Once long ago ago,

he had seen his momma,

reduced to tears,

at her inability,

to nurse a child,

properly.

Now his offspring,

nourishes her offspring,

in a way his momma could not,

that day.

Gently, modestly, she,

holds him to her breast.

Guiding his lips, 

to fulfill a need,

this day.

What then remains

What warmth do we leave,
to the others, this day?

When all that remains,

are memories this, day?

Then muses he oft, of the one, 

who rekindled, the flame, 

within her that day.

His future companion,

desired, to share God's love, 

for the people, that day.

Learned, she then, 

not worthy, to serve, 

was she judged, that day?

Thus was warmth, and light,

diminished, that day.

Then a minister, new,

was called, to lead his people,

that day.

Rekindles, he then

the light and desire, 

to share gods love,

for the people, this day.

This light then continues, 

to warm, the others,  this day.

Thus remains, the shared light,

he rekindled that day.

On his death

There he lay,

cold, but warm still.

Does the spirit linger,

as bodies warmth, lingers,

still.

He departed the world,

and his once warm body,

as his son was in,

the nearby room.

The son performed his daily, tasks.

Helping bank customers,

on the phone, who,

we're experiencing,

the worst day of their life.

60 times a day the son,

helped a customer who life savings,

had been taken.

They needed a new debit card,

or an address updated,

or who could not access,

their online balance.

Then departed he, then,

while others waited,

for his son to help,

and comfort them.

Did his spirit then linger, still

as the warmth of his body,

lingered, still?

His son desired not this day,

then.

The diapers to change.

The urinal to empty.

The medicine every four hours,

to administer.

To ask help of the ward members,

The President of the Elders, replied,

was too much to ask.

Thus were they together, 

in this, task, this day,

trapped, though the end be near.

The relief then comes,

from the nurse, medication,

morphine, 

like a gift from God,

to ease the transition,

to his next stage.

Does he leave this life,

then comforted, 

to know his son,

loved him, still?

What then of the Angel in the Garden?

What use could an angel be to him? 
Then here, in the Garden.

Remove not the pain, could he now.
Carry not the burden, could he then.

Strengthen the Savior?
Maybe.

Once in literature, another came,
to strengthen, a chosen one.
though in story, and myth,
yet a lesson to contrast,
still.

On a hero's journey,
Frodo had been sent,
to cast the ring into Mount Doom.

In the end, his strength failed him,
at his faithful side was Samwise Gamgee.
Carry not the burden could Samwise, 
but carry Mr. Frodo then could he.

Some speculate that the Angel was Michael.
to remind him of his Eternal Parents, 
faith and confidence in his ability,
to carry this load. 

If it is Micheal, 
then remember not that Michael,
became Adam, whose spouse,
had helped him choose the better path. 

The two, the angel and the Christ,
completing one Eternal Round,
a circular path to then lead.

The second creations,
to return the boon,
on their Heroes' Journey. 

On Poetry and Rhetoric (Yeats)

 We make out of the quarrel with others, rhetoric, but of the quarrel with ourselves, poetry. Unlike the rhetoricians, who get a confident voice from remembering the crowd they have won or may win, we sing amid our uncertainty; and, smitten even in the presence of the most high beauty by the knowledge of our solitude, our rhythm shudders. I think, too, that no fine poet, no matter how disordered his life, has ever, even in his mere life, had pleasure for his end. Johnson and Dowson, friends of my youth, were dissipated men, the one a drunkard, the other a drunkard and mad about women, and yet they had the gravity of men who had found life out and were awakening from the dream; and both, one in life and art and one in art and less in life, had a continual

[Pg 30] preoccupation with religion. Nor has any poet I have read of or heard of or met with been a sentimentalist. The other self, the anti-self or the antithetical self, as one may choose to name it, comes but to those who are no longer deceived, whose passion is reality. The sentimentalists are practical men who believe in money, in position, in a marriage bell, and whose understanding of happiness is to be so busy whether at work or at play, that all is forgotten but the momentary aim. They find their pleasure in a cup that is filled from Lethe’s wharf, and for the awakening, for the vision, for the revelation of reality, tradition offers us a different word—ecstasy. An old artist wrote to me of his wanderings by the quays of New York, and how he found there a woman nursing a sick child, and drew her story from her. She spoke, too, of other children who had died: a long tragic[Pg 31] story. “I wanted to paint her,” he wrote, “if I denied myself any of the pain I could not believe in my own ecstasy.” We must not make a false faith by hiding from our thoughts the causes of doubt, for faith is the highest achievement of the human intellect, the only gift man can make to God, and therefore it must be offered in sincerity. Neither must we create, by hiding ugliness, a false beauty as our offering to the world. He only can create the greatest imaginable beauty who has endured all imaginable pangs, for only when we have seen and foreseen what we dread shall we be rewarded by that dazzling unforeseen wing-footed wanderer. We could not find him if he were not in some sense of our being and yet of our being but as water with fire, a noise with silence. He is of all things not impossible the most difficult, for that only which comes easily can[Pg 32] never be a portion of our being, “Soon got, soon gone,” as the proverb says. I shall find the dark grow luminous, the void fruitful when I understand I have nothing, that the ringers in the tower have appointed for the hymen of the soul a passing bell.

Per Amica Silentia Lunae, by William Butler Yeats

By Friendly Silence of the Moon

Both Sides Now

Rows and flows of angel hair
And ice cream castles in the air
And feather canyons everywhere
Looked at clouds that way

But now they only block the sun
They rain and they snow on everyone
So many things I would have done
But clouds got in my way

I've looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down and still somehow
It's cloud illusions I recall
I really don't know clouds at all

Moons and Junes and Ferris wheels
The dizzy dancing way that you feel
As every fairy tale comes real
I've looked at love that way

But now it's just another show
And you leave 'em laughing when you go
And if you care, don't let them know
Don't give yourself away

I've looked at love from both sides now
From give and take and still somehow
It's love's illusions that I recall
I really don't know love
Really don't know love at all

Tears and fears and feeling proud
To say, "I love you" right out loud
Dreams and schemes and circus crowds
I've looked at life that way

Oh, but now old friends they're acting strange
And they shake their heads and they tell me that I've changed
Well something's lost, but something's gained
In living every day

I've looked at life from both sides now
From win and lose and still somehow
It's life's illusions I recall
I really don't know life at all

It's life's illusions that I recall
I really don't know life
I really don't know life at all

Source: LyricFind

Songwriters: Joni Mitchell

DREAMS

Martha

Cleaning House

After the last child left

Finds her favorite biology text

And blows the dust from the dream

She grew up with.

Is four-eight too old

To enroll in veterinarian school?

And Georgia

Down the street

Home from board meeting

With a pile of papers

Wryly smiles

As she pulls from the closet

The oak cradle

She had intended for something

Other than overflow

For her most important files

Carol Lynn Pearson

(Woman I Have Know & Been (1992)

 

on his sterility

When did he, God,

First discover it, 

The young one's, sterility.

Was it at his conception,

nestled their was he,

in his mother's womb?

Or you was it when the gonads, 

First formed near his heart.

In the male form,

They begin to form,

There in embryo.

They later drop,

To the present place,

Between the legs.

Did God then begin,

To hatch a plan,

To help rescue the babies.

It may have begun early,

The gently nudge, 

along the path.

First came the nanny,

Nance was mom's twin sister.

Though they came,

18 months apart.

They often appeared, 

to have the same soul.

Like two sides,

Of the same coin.

Momma and Nance,

first shared a bedroom,

then later they shared,

the babies.

His momma could make babies,

Nance loved to raise them.

He and the nanny,

Always together were they,

those first three years,

It was not a good thing.

In those days, 

tobe an unwed mom,

Still, the foundation of love and support,

she instilled in him.

This enables his bond,

with his wife and children.

Later their were summer's together,

and family reunion's too.

As a teenager he wondered, 

how he would feel,

about an infertile wife, 

like Nance.

The woman's infertility, 

would not alter his choice .

This discovering, 

his own infertility,

completed things.

He thought it better 

When they married,

to share this burden.

Then extend it not 

to another couple,

leaving two families, infertile.

When it became time, 

to rescue the babies, 

he was prepared well.

His wife and babies,

continue to bless his life.

He has become grateful,

for his infertility.

Tychbornes Elegie

Tychbornes Elegie, written with his owne hand in the Tower before his execution

My prime of youth is but a frost of cares,
My feast of joy is but a dish of paine,
My Crop of corne is but a field of tares,
And al my good is but vaine hope of gaine.
The day is past, and yet I saw no sunne,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

My tale was heard, and yet it was not told,

My fruite is falne, & yet my leaves are greene:
My youth is spent, and yet I am not old,
I saw the world, and yet I was not seene.
My thred is cut, and yet it is not spunne,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

I sought my death, and found it in my wombe,
I lookt for life, and saw it was a shade:
I trod the earth, and knew it was my Tombe,
And now I die, and now I was but made.
My glasse is full, and now my glasse is runne,
And now I live, and now my life is done.

Thy prime of youth is frozen with thy faults,
Thy feast of joy is finisht with thy fall:
Thy crop of corne is tares availing naughts,
Thy good God knowes, thy hope, thy hap and all.
Short were thy daies, and shadowed was thy sun,
T'obscure thy light unluckelie begun.

Time trieth trueth, & trueth hath treason tript,
Thy faith bare fruit as thou hadst faithless beene:
Thy ill spent youth thine after yeares hath nipt,
And God that saw thee hath preserved our Queen,
Her thred still holds, thine perisht though unspun,
And she shall live when traitors lives are done.

Thou soughtest thy death, and found it in desert,
Thou look'dst for life, yet lewdlie forc'd it fade:
Thou trodst the earth, and now in earth thou art,
As men may wish thou never hadst beene made.
Thy glorie and thy glasse are timeles runne,
And this, O Tychborne, hath thy treason done.

poem-of-the-week-chidiock-tichborne

on a longing for, Vicksburg

Why is he longing, for Vicksburg?
He dreams of her nightly, now. 

From whence comes, this desire?
Why the craving?
Why the need?
What did he leave behind, in Vicksburg? 

The last visit, was so long, ago.
He left with the one,
With whom he had danced,
For so many years. 

She had been his final companion,
assigned by his mission president,
to watch over and protect him,
on their journey home. 

21 years before that day,
she had been assigned, the same task,
by her Eternal Father. 

They had battled for so many years,
to build a lasting Eternal Relationship.

Here on the Battlefields of Vicksburg,
they began the process,
of leaving behind the old dance,
and starting a new one,
as they sought to forgive,
and be forgiven. 

She has been gone,
for a decade, now. 

He has just completed a journey
with her Eternal Companion,
and provided him with a good death,
with the assistance of his,
Eternal Companion. 

Maybe the longing, for Vicksburg,
is craving a new Eternal Dance,
with his Eternal Companion,
and a desire to reunite with, 
his Eternal Companion and their Parents.

Once more.

Thoughts on the Restoration of his church

 

1. Christ has prepared a place for me. John 14:1-3

1. In the introduction to Mere Christianity, C.S. Lewis offers this lovely image of the entrance hall to a church where we can meet to find a room we are most comfortable belonging to.  He invites us to treat each other equally no matter what room/sect we have selected, I feel an open invitation from Christ through Lewis to treat all my siblings equally as I seek to find the sect/room I am most comfortable spending eternity in. 
1. C.S.. Lewis "Mere ChristianityLinks to an external site.

As I have grown older and desired to universalize my faith I saught a great deal of Holy Envy.  I have known since I was a youth of 14 years of age that Joseph was chosen to restore the church.  But for a church to be restored it must preexist Joseph's time.   Elder John Taylor taught that there were many good and righteous men and women who lived during the apostasy and they guided and supported his church.  

John Taylor, on ancient men and the light they offered

When I was fourteen and learning church history.  I desired to seek out and find the pre-restoration prophets. Joseph Smith's maternal grandfather was a prophet who received a vision and printed a flyer of that vision. 

I knew that God must speak to other men and that he must have begun the preparation for the restoration early.  I love to study the Reformation, especially the English Reformation.  The English reformation began anew under William Tyndale and was almost completed under Henry viii.  Henry was not so much a protestant as an English Catholic. 

One of myfavorite Puritan prophets was John Milton  He was one of the rare Puritans who was not a Calvinist. I have spent decades studying his life and his works.  I love his epic poem Paradise Lost. As I study the Puritan prophets I am more convinced that God the Father reveals himself to all men and women who desire to learn of him. That is why I am so strengthened in my desire to possess holy envy. 

Let me leave you with one more reference the seldom read preface to The Great Bible an early precursor to the King James Bible and the one Henry viii commanded to be the English Bible read to his English Catholic subjects. 

Thomas Cranmer's Preface to the Great Bible

on his Ruminations

Why does he ruminate then,
on it, his testimony.

Cows are ruminates.
They eat their food more than once.

Grass is difficult to digest.
It must be eaten twice.

Once it is taken from the ground,
and stored in a pouch. 

After it has settled for a while,
it is regurgitated and then digested again.

Is a testimony like this too.

Must we take it in, first,
Let it prepare our minds.

Do we then regurgitate it,
and consume aknew.

Then when it becomes daily practice,
Are we ingesting it again?

I know I must think of my testimony many times
and learn to feed it and use and consume it again.

Then when I share it I begin to bless those who I love
with my works.