I Found An Old Poem . . .
” . . . it’s hard to stand with broken kneecaps
and those two ribs were just so inviting
not to mention the perfect permanence
of his new nose . . .”
Old poem: 6 years or so. Completely forgot that I wrote it. But now I remember the situation.It was about losing my job. Actually, it was about sitting in the principal’s office (or the police station, not really sure), explaining that I knew fully why I lost my job. The reason: some young man decided to be beating up on his girlfriend, and I responded. Not kindly. Not with charity. Not with grace. Most definitely, not with mercy. No. Not with mercy.
One of my girls trying to get out of a relationship, just barely. Finally made the call after he, in fact, hit her one too many times for her to bare. Sadly, this was more than once. Luckily I entered the picture at the break-up stage. Luck for him.
He wasn’t a student any more. Graduated the year before I showed up on the job, but he still had friends there, so he was around often. Technically, he would be an adult. Not a minor. Different criminal charges.
Subsequently, we had two run ins. Once in the cafeteria, don’t really remember, but it left an impression. Months later he and some “friends” decided to make an appearance at a school function. They arrived to harass one of my boys over (apparently) some drug money. They were waiting outside the school. 4 deep.I show up.
One of his friends, “the leader” wanted to make an issue. The ex-boyfriend remembered me. He quickly persuaded his friend they should leave. Still sort of sad they did.
This probably makes me a bad person. Not quite “Christ-like;” then again, if Christ would drive off the pre-rock casting crowd from a woman caught in adultery, and whip the money lenders in the temple,
I can only image what he might do in the face of his daughter being abused.
Don’t Bring Guns To School, Stupid.
Student arrested for bringing gun to school
written by: Jeffrey Wolf
WESTMINSTER – Police arrested a student at Westminster High School on Monday after a gun was found in his backpack.
The Adams County School District 50 says the school’s principal was told about the gun just after 3 p.m., right before school was let out for the day.
The student was not carrying any ammunition and authorities say the student was not threatened and no students were hurt.
He was suspended and now faces expulsion as required by Colorado law for students who bring guns to school.
(Copyright KUSA*TV. All rights reserved.)
No place like home.
Writing And Revising Poetry
It’s funny, in a not funny sort of way, but I am in a place in my life where revising old pieces is more full fulling in some ways that writing new ones. Or at least that’s what I’m telling myself. Sounds a hell of a lot better than saying I’m not inspired.
Thought there are new works, well, in the work, most of them are songs. On the poeting front, my masters program has caused me to look at old works in a new way. Mostly realizing how badly some things sucked.
I told my students of this as an illustration of revision as being a huge part of the ‘writing process:’ they were pleased to hear that some published, their only teacher to boot, has to go over his work, cut whole sections out, reword and rephrase, or just start from scratch just as I force them to do. That I will find a piece so horrid on a second glance, I might not return to it for years, a luxury they obviously don’t have in my class.
I’m brutal on myself. But that is what Saturdays, my sabbath, has become in part: revision time. An example, the lines:
the hometown café:
(a quaint mid-western scene)
where everyone knows everyone’s everything
as well as they know the unchanging vittles
on the RC Cola marquee
the milky malts
60 cent chips
and simple sundaes
served from a sickly mauve counter
to good ‘ole boys and gals
above the standard rust red stainless steel stools
(which still remember when He couldn’t sit)
becomes (at least for now)
the hometown quick stop: a quaint mid-western scene
where everyone knows everyone else’s everything
as well as they know the unchanging vittles on
the RC Cola marquee: milky malts and simple sundaes
60 cent chips, cheese curds, beer and brats, all served
from a sickly mauve counter (with cups of the most
ironic coffee: consciously creamless) to good ‘ole boys
and gals who sit upon the standard rust red
stainless steel stools . . .
Fun times had by all.
Eating Late
All night dinners attract a certain clientèle: not sure why this is surprising.
If you decide to dine after midnight, while grading of course, you will enter a world of enigmatic absurdities, which may remind the teacher in you why get up every morning: I refuse to allow my kids to become one of “THEM.”
Pearls of nightwalker wisdom:
* Co-dependance is an example of people needing to pop a pill to solve their problems.
* Your intelligence is indirectly inversely proportional to the number of times you can say ‘fuck’ loudly in mixed company.
* If you don’t watch your bacon, it might be gone. Real bacon. Pig bacon. There is no metaphor.
* This sentence is acceptable: “Your head looks like a big tit. What would you do if I kissed you right now?”
* No matter how old/young you are, everyone is a potential date.
* No matter how fat you are, the motorized Big Bird ride will accommodate you.
* No matter how pink you are, your neck could be red-er.
It’s almost 1am. So I had to get out. 2 1/2 hours was enough.
I’m sure I’ll be a regular customer.
More On Rest
Damn. Rest is HARD. Rest is VERY VERY VERY HARD.
You would think it would be simple. Sleep is fun. Relaxation is what we are always striving for. We delude ourselves into believing that we work hard and fast so we can have more free time doing whatever we want. At least that’s what I thought. That’s what I have been assuming for years.
People call me ‘efficient’ because I get hard jobs done quickly and well. I tell them I’m ‘lazy’ because I really just want to be doing something else. Apparently, I’m full of it.
After my first official Sabbath this past Saturday, all I can think about is all the grading I DIDN’T get done; how stressed I am that I took time to relax. All the work left to be done, and not enough time during the week to do it. Plus trying to eat healthier, Plus trying to go to bed earlier, Plus trying not to spend 13 hours at work everyday. Plus reading my Bible in the morning.
What have I found: being healthy is TOO MUCH WORK, because it stops me . . . well, from working.
But this morning, when I read my Bible, I was beat over the head with Habbakuk. (That’s right, a minor prophet. You know you’re in trouble when you’re listening to an angry, God-driven, damnation speaking, y’all seriously suck at this covenant thing saying Jew from the Torah. )
These were the two passages I was shown, the first I wrote a song based on (many moons ago, still unrecorded) and the other was used at Trailhead on Sunday:
I will stand upon my watch, and set me upon the tower, and will watch to see what he will say unto me, and what I shall answer when I am reproved.
And the LORD answered me, and said, Write the vision, and make it plain upon tables, that he may run that readeth it. For the vision is yet for an appointed time, but at the end it shall speak, and not lie: though it tarry, wait for it; because it will surely come, it will not tarry. Behold, his soul which is lifted up is not upright in him: but the just shall live by his faith. 2:1-4
Although the fig tree shall not blossom, neither shall fruit be in the vines; the labour of the olive shall fail, and the fields shall yield no meat; the flock shall be cut off from the fold, and there shall be no herd in the stalls: Yet I will rejoice in the LORD, I will joy in the God of my salvation.
The LORD God is my strength, and he will make my feet like hinds’ feet, and he will make me to walk upon mine high places. 3:17 -19
For some reason, at the time, they both told me not to give up on this whole Sababth thing, and at the end of the day, when 6pm rolled around, and I was still sitting in my classroom grading papers I normally would have graded on Saturday, and I was thinking about completely scraping this whole Sabbath deal, and find comfortable cop-outs, they came back to my mind.
This is what I’m supposed to do. I’ll stop trying to figure out ‘why’ or see how it best fits my life or is benefical, cause I can talk myself out of anything. It’s enough that it’s what I should do, amoung the other things I should do. And it’s up to Him to sort the rest out.
Pun intended.
Because “the just shall live by his faith” and “I will joy in the God of my salvation” because
He “is my strength” and He will damn well take care of what He said He will.
The fact that it is almost midnight and I just graded a stack of papers, not withstanding.
Shalom
