Atop The Mountain

On 2023110320231031 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems, Personal Essays1 Comment

From up atop the mountain 
I still can't see the truth, 
Nor do I have the answers 
That I had in my youth. 

And yet, though I can't point to it, 
I still can fell the pull, 
For love is all there really is 
That makes life 

Meaningful

Love is a word that is very much in vogue. The actions that go with it seem to be far less popular.

This in itself is not that uncommon a phenomenon. We humans like to build houses out of beautiful words that hide the ugly ones we use inside.

I wish I could say I was free from this behavior myself, but alas. As soon as someone cuts me off in traffic, the real me comes out. I can’t say I really like the real me. He’s kind of a jerk.

But here’s the thing about hypocrisy: it doesn’t mean what you espouse is wrong. It just means you aren’t a very good exemplar. But that doesn’t mean (for instance) that being more loving and empathetic shouldn’t be a goal, because it should be — and is.

Maybe today I can be better. Or a little better. Maybe almost a noticeable amount.

It’d be a start.

earnest evening

On 2023110220231031 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems, Poetic Essays3 Comments

in the earnest evening 
we sang a sacred song 
of golden twilight gleaming 
for those who're laden long. 

we harmonized, and sympathized, 
ancestral lives and lions -- 
for in the earnest evening comes 
our forbears in 

the silence

I grew up in a family of instrumental musicians and singers and became one myself at a very young age. At the rather advanced age I am now, that has pretty much devolved into weekly playing the piano and organ and occasionally writing or arranging music. I can only barely sing, but like most people who can’t really sing, I love doing it… so long as no one can see or hear me.

Recently, I have found myself remembering a lot of obscure songs I heard in my youth and this being age of YouTube, I have been able to find most of them. Sometimes I remember songs almost perfectly, but most of the time, I only really remember bits and pieces.

Old music always reminds me of my parents, who met singing, loved singing, and had us singing together as a family from my earliest memories. I hated singing in public, which they could not comprehend. People who love to perform have a hard time understanding those of us who would just rather not.

There’s something about music that I find to be… ancestral. I’ve always loved ancient music, and maybe that’s why. The poem above is an effort to get at that feeling.

How does music most move you?

Not-My-Neighborhood

On 2023110120231031 By Beleaguered ServantIn Original Poems, Poetic Essays5 Comments

Here, in this not-my-neighborhood,
My new not-neighbors live; 
I'd bring them a fresh-baked pumpkin pie 
If I had one to give -- 

They're rather uninteresting, these folks; 
In fact, they rather bore me; 
For just because we live far away 
They've chosen to ignore me! 

But, I'll show them: I'm going to leave, 
And wave "bye" with this poem --  
For here in this not-my-neighborhood 
I just don't feel 

At home

I haven’t been writing much this year, and it’s left me feeling rather off-kilter. Between my wife’s three surgeries and the new job at work, life has been pretty much just work-family-sleep-work-family-sleep, for days on end… with a fair amount of eating thrown in. And a lot of caffeine.

I’m looking forward to reading and writing again for Nano Poblano, and I’m hoping to feel a little less off-balance by the time the month winds down. Or maybe just a more familiar and comfortable form of off-balanced.