Sunday, December 30, 2012

Looking in the Rearview Mirror

Looking in the Rearview Mirror


'Tis not the safest way to move forward
To be looking back at where you've been.
But it can be difficult to know one's whereabouts
Without the knowledge of the path that lead to here.

Trapped in nostalgia, trying to rekindle past ashes,
May yield little energy to power today's craft.
Locked in a view of old familiar memories
Blinds one for oncoming hazard and opportunity.

And yet I do linger on what has already passed
With only faint anticipation for the future yet.
Less than expectation, the feeling is pessimistic;
The pleasant has been balanced by the less desirable to be.

In youth the road ahead is long and unexplored
And with unsatisfied boldness we rush to meet it.
But in the ebbtide, many happy discoveries are behind,
Perhaps gone beyond reach, but not from hindsight.

Does a discontent man drive to reinvent and restart
While the happily complacent merely rehashes and reuses?
Is it gluttony to desire more virgin grounds to despoil
Or to overharvest the same trodden acres to ruin?

Sunday, December 23, 2012

Airing of Grievances

Airing of Grievances

(“I got a lot of problems with you people!”)


As we gather today on Festivus,
Or at least as I might wish to imagine,
We may release our mental detritus
When our thoughts carefully we examine.

Perhaps it started as a silly joke,
Made famous on a old television show;
A rebellion from the holidays broke
From which the too many divisions grow.

But we might all indeed get benefit
From an annual cleansing in the air;
We could to each other this once admit
The disappointments we silently bear.

And we probably should also listen
When a grievance is directed our way
To learn of our own flaws from us hidden
Which cause those surrounding us some dismay.

If family and friends were this honest,
Even if only but this once each year,
The rest of the days we would be less stressed
And airing of grievances would bring us cheer.

Sunday, December 16, 2012

Joy of Giving

Joy of Giving


I like to blend charity
With much anonymity.
It is what those who receive
Are reinforced to believe
About the people around
Where help is readily found.

I do not want the credit
But hope to widely spread it
To everyone whom we meet
As we walk out on the street,
To every unknown face there
Who silently within do care.

Yes, I do enjoy the game
Of impishness without blame;
To add the prank to the gift
To give with laughs extra lift.
It makes the giving more fun,
When none know I am the one.

Sunday, December 9, 2012

Gathering 'Round the Holiday Tree


Gathering 'Round the Holiday Tree

There are those who say,
In these times of holiday,
That all trees which shine
Are only Christmas divine.
They protest to share
All the decorated glare
With whom believe not
The Christmas tale they were taught.

Which of the magi
Was the tree-toting wise guy?
Did a shepherd haul
The tree to the scene natal?
Maybe I have missed
That gift on the baby's list,
But it's likely true
That elsewhere this folklore grew.

Evergreen brings life
Inside through the winter strife.
Pagans sought its charm
To help them feel safe and warm.
As the sun climbs back
From the deep point on its track,
The memory of spring
To those fragrant boughs does cling.

Christians it deplored
As a mockery of their Lord.
Many centuries passed
Ere with Christmas it was cast.
With food, ball, and light
They covered that borrowed sight.
Not in manger born,
But from ancient customs torn.

Sunday, December 2, 2012

Mr. Toad's Bumpy Ride

Mr. Toad's Bumpy Ride


Surely it was late night gastrointestinal distress, I told myself upon opening my eyes. A bit too much dinner, that extra wide slice of pie.

For there I was sitting in the roofless jalopy, bouncing down rough dirt roads. And at the controls was a well-dressed gigantic toad. Or perhaps I, the car, and the landscape had all shrunk to his scale. Under either explanation, I felt my stomach torturously cast about inside my frame with my skeletal structure alternately compressed and stretched with each bump.

Are we going somewhere?” I asked the driver. “Are we so terribly late that we need such haste?”

We have made much progress, but we still have a long way to go,” the toad reassured me.

But where are we going?”

Forward” was his simple reply.

Would we not get there at any speed? Must I experience such jostling and inner turmoil for so general a goal?”

We were on the wrong road when I took the wheel,” explained Toad.  "It has taken almost until now to get back to where we need to start. And the other passengers have become rather impatient.”

Looking over my shoulder into the backseat, I now saw my fellow travelers. A Mole, a Rat, and a Badger. While Mole was enjoying the adventure, Rat seemed quite eager to have this trip end, reverse, or, at least, change course.  Badger, in the middle, was asleep.

Oh, hello,” I said. “Glad to meet you. How are you chaps doing back there?”

As well as can be expected,” replied Mole.

We have not crashed yet,” commented Rat more glumly. “But be assured, we will.”

Badger quietly snored, unanswering.

You seem quite unhappy to be on this trip, Rat. Why did you come?”

For the company, I suppose. I scarcely was asked whether I wanted to come or not. Before I could state a single reasonable objection, we were speeding off. Who knows what cliff lays ahead, but Toad holds the belief that with enough velocity the car may simply learn to fly.”

You are exaggerating again, Rat,” the Badger said in a soft rebuke without stirring. “Relax. Close your eyes and maybe you will see fewer imagined dire possibilities.”

You do worry an awful lot, Rat,” said Mole in a gentle and friendly voice, “It really cannot be good for you to worry so.”

Mole, my loving friend, you do not worry enough,” replied Rat. “You accept boon and bust with the same concession to inevitability as though you have no say one way or the other. 'All is for the best' and 'What will be will be'. You are not so insignificant as you chose to believe. Choices can be made, made by you, to guide you to the better and to avoid the worse.”

But I do not need to choose, Rat. If the outcome of every event is known and selected in advance, how will we have any adventure in surprises and discovery? I would never have met you, Rat, or you either, Badger and Toad, if I stayed tucked into my comfy home under the tree,”

He has a point,” Badger opened his eyes to state. “Peace and quiet are good for napping, but you achieve little if asleep all the time. The world keeps spinning and changing every day and you cannot hold it back, Rat. No matter how much you may wish. And you cannot know all the changes before they appear, so you are best to be prepared to adapt to what comes.”

Everyone hold tight!” Toad warned excitedly. Moments later, the car was careening down an extra rocky slope with no sign of slowing in Toad's navigaton of the obstacles.

Now, really, Toad,” Rat protested. “Use the brakes.”

No time for that now, Rat,” shouted Toad. “It is only a brief shortcut, I think,” he murmured more softly as he wretched the path of the car around the larger nearly boulders.

Wheeeeeee,” cried Mole as he poked his head into the front seat between Toad and me. “Oh, that was a close one; well done, Toad.”

Perhaps you should sit back down, Mole,” suggested Badger, “and let Toad concentrate on his steering.” Mole returned to the seat behind me, but lean over the side of the car to watch the landscape go whirling past.
 

As Toad continued our plummet, I wished that I might too be in the backseat, if indeed I needed to be in the car at all. None of the travelers seemed to question the need for this precarious ride nor their presence here. Neither Mole's exuberant optimism nor Rat's fatalistic pessimism stirred Badger from his patient nonchalance. Toad assumed his command of the vehicle, but the route was perhaps less his priority than his distant goal. It felt like I had seen this circumstance being played out in my waking life as well, for I was surely like the snoozing Badger, ignoring the uncertainties and conserving my energies to deal with what will happen rather than worry or wistfully speculate about the too many possibilities.
 

In recognizing my dream state for what it was, it broke up into cerebral mist again. In the fog banks of my mind, perhaps these sprites will await their opportunity to stage some future drama about their bumpy ride or other adventures or humdrum in their lives together.