Tuesday, July 31, 2007

Unevenly Yoked

When my wife and I met it was love at first sight. We became high school sweethearts, and were thoroughly convinced that our love was stronger than anything the world could throw at us.

However, the first years of our marriage were rough, and it came to the point that I wondered if we would make it.

We grew up in different cultures, and different religions. It got to the point that in 1996 we separated for a year.

During that time my dad said to me, "You know, even if she wasn't the right woman for you when you got married, by becoming married she became the right woman in the eyes of God. Rather than battle her, give the marriage to the Lord, and just love her."

Just Love Her.

The separation reached the point of Divorce Court. There we were, battling over the kids in court. I gave my side of why I deserved custody to the moderator with venom. Despite my faith, I was angry that the woman I loved was allowing our marriage to dissolve. I foolishly allowed my anger to control my words.

Then the moderator asked for her argument regarding why she should have custody of the children. My wife stood up there, ready to battle with me, and said, "All I know is I want my husband back."

My heart fell into my knees. We talked after our day in court, and then got back together. From then on we placed our marriage in the hands of the Lord, and now have a marriage I once only dreamed of having.

They say the Lord works in mysterious ways. Well, I don't know about that, but in my case, it took a storm to make us realize how much we love each other.

also posted at Ox. . . After Dark

Saturday, July 21, 2007

The Simple Man

A simple man,
The eve of life.
A simple man,
With a simple wife.

A simple man,
With humble fruits to bear.
The simple man,
with Life to share.

A simple man,
Love abound within.
The simple man,
Repenter from sin.

The simple man,
Saved by the Son.
The simple man,
The forgiven one.

Saturday, July 14, 2007

My Lovely Susan Ann

When I was in the Navy a friend of mine wished to propose to his girl, Susan Ann, and felt that the best way was to present her with a poem. He asked me to write one for him. This is the result of that request:

There is a woman I love,
And her name is Susan Ann.
A day never passes,
Without thoughts of my Susan Ann.

A day without her,
Is a day of loneliness.
But a minute with her,
Is a minute of love and happiness.

A day without thoughts,
Of my beautiful Susan Ann
Are days non-existent,
For I love my Susan Ann.

She is my love and companion,
She's why I hope for a lengthy life;
For I love my lovely lady,
As I will for all my life.

Thursday, July 12, 2007

Medical Difficulties

Most folks don't know this about me, and I tend not to talk about it because I don't wish for folks to think of me differently, but I have medical conditions that sometimes make it difficult to function or perform simple tasks.

For the last two days the pain has been intense, hence my blogging activity has been near zero. My real frustration, however, is that those around me don't understand what I am going through and even, sometimes, ridicule me over it.

I guess from what I understand some of those around me also think that I have been more reactionary and mean over the last two years. If that is true, then I truly apologize. It is difficult to be truly easy to get along with when you feel like your body is in the aftermath of going 15 rounds with Mike Tyson everyday.

Anyway, my heart is truly in the right place. Sometimes my demeanor isn't.

More growth for me is needed, I suppose. Luckily, I have a wonderful wife helping me through all of it.

Monday, July 09, 2007

Poem about Childhood I wrote when I was in High School (a long long long time ago)

Wagon's red and rose's thorn,
Early to bed and nightmare's scorn.

Puppie's fur and jaws that bite,
Kitten's purr and blown out light.

Flying swings and broken bones,
Crying slings and flying stones.

Running tag and slipping falls,
Magic bag and nipping halls.

School bell's ring and bully's sting,
These are things that childhood brings.

Saturday, July 07, 2007


White. Shining arrogance pranced like ivory keys on a piano. Ebony dots paced the ceiling, gazing wonderingly at my spinning madness. Mocking my mental hurricane of fog and mist. I could not see them through my stormy eyes. Still, they watched me. Watching me on my back, strapped to four steel posts.

Where has my body landed?

Shadows mocked the white brilliance, leaning their grayness over my upturned face. Familiar forms, yet unknown. A face molded together. The face belonged to someone I remembered, but forgot.

An orifice in the face opened, spitting ghosts of words.My damaged brain sputtered. Cranial fog cleared momentarily. Chaos organized for a moment. Only a short moment.Concentration relinquished a momentary solution. The voice was familiar because it belonged to my mother.

Chaos returned. My disembodied limbs reached to embrace her. Tingling spiders marching down my arms held my arms captive. I remained still. Mother’s tears rolled down my cheeks.An epileptic seizure captured my body. Darkness came. Life faded. Death twisted my insides, rolling through my body like the roar of an angry lion. Helicopter blades thumped. Sirens screamed. People placed their hands all over my naked body, holding me with needles and masks.

White. The ivory ceiling with ebony dots loomed overhead. Virgin sheets on my snowy bed contained my languid, quivering body. White walls with bright lights shining on a milky tile floor thundered around my personal prison of tubes and machines. Frosty garments on anti-septic attendants marched, shouting orders to each other as a needle plunged into my purple wrist.

The place radiated purity, but the bleeding heart of mother’s red blouse served as a focal point.

My eyes opened. Tears ran down her face. I stared curiously, unable to understand why she, or myself, resided in this white place of beeping machines.

Numbness filled me. Another episode returned. My lips exploded. Ice cream lips tingled in unison. Eyes wandering backward, my vision became obstructed by fluttering needle-points. Everything was spinning. I closed my eyes. The spin increased.Tumbling. Rolling. My body died in my dreams. I recalled pain invading my body. Skin peeled from my face like the rind of a rotten orange. Rolling along the highway. Pounding with each crash of crumbling metal. Crimson fluids fled from my being.

I can’t catch my breath!

The white sanctity of the hospital returned. The nightmares abated.

I opened my mouth to ask questions slamming mercilessly against my skull. My tongue rolled around in my mouth untrained. My swollen lips forgot how to speak.

I managed a primitive grunt.

A man in a white coat ran to my side as mother screamed hysterically. He stabbed a needle of light into my eyes, prattling nonsensical verbiage all the while. Pure gibberish. He spoke only noise.

The terror of darkness returned. My eyes closed. Rolling nightmares of chaos imprisoned me. I jerked awake in my dreams. Numb pain.Memories rolling. Pounding. Cries of pain. The faces of men looking down at me while tossing around noise with their tongues.

The seizure passed. A new face stood over me. A familiar face. The loving gaze of my uncle.

“He’s coming out of it,” said my uncle.

Words. Wonderful words. The eloquent poetry of speech from my uncle’s lips embraced me like an old friend.

I murmured the first thing that came to mind. “Where am I?”

“In the hospital, son.”

Son? “You’re not my dad.”

“No, I am not,” replied my uncle with a slight grin on his weathered face.

How absurd. Of course he is not my father.

“How did I get into the hospital?”

“Car accident,” said Uncle. “Doozie, too. You rolled that little car eight times down the highway. Got thrown down a slope, or something like that. They didn’t give you much of a chance, from what I hear. Ten minutes or so, says your dad. Ten minutes later and you’d be in a coffin right now, I reckon. Not too good. You were comatose, you know. Month and a half, or so. This is the first time you’ve acted sensible in months.


Is there anything that you want?” he asked out of common courtesy.

“Yes,” I said. “I want a hamburger.”

“You can’t eat food like that in this ward. They’ll take it away.”

“I don’t care. That’s what I want.”

Uncle grinned, hurried off, leaving me with my Auntie. I glared at her suspiciously.

She smiled, sort of halfway. Her hands, drying from age, lay peacefully on her lap. Tired eyes of deep blue studied me, moving slightly behind the time-ridden slits that housed them.

“Can I be unstrapped?” I asked.

She arose and vanished for a moment along the corridor, returning moments later with one of those men in the white coats. He grinned like he knew me, and unstrapped my bonds.

“No funny business,” he said. “You were taking swings at people when you were out of it.”

“I was?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Just remember, one swing, and the straps go back on. Don’t be pulling on any of the tubes, either.”

“No problem,” I responded.

Auntie sat back down and asked, “How do you feel?”

“Well,” I replied honestly, “I can’t feel half of my face or my legs. Pain is racking just about every other point in my body that isn’t numb. Despite being unstrapped, I feel like I can’t move a muscle, and I am starving for a hamburger.”

She nodded.

Uncle returned, leaning over me with a box in his hand. A finger of his other hand stood vertically across his lips as he whispered conspiratorially, “Sshh, here’s that burger. Eat it under the sheet.”

My hands responded painfully, reaching eagerly for the box. Under the sheet I devoured the contraband.

I pulled my head out for air. A retired respirator loomed nearby.

“Uncle Bill?” I garbled with a mouthful of food.

“Yes?” he replied.

“Thanks. This is the best burger I’ve ever had!”

Friday, July 06, 2007

Peaceful Advice

This poem was published in an anthology called "A Break In The Clouds." I wrote it June 20, 1992.

Peaceful Advice

Go peacefully among the chaos and noise of life,
And remember silence may bring you peace.
The humble may pass through life unknown to many,
But God shall remember their guardship of peace.

Truth shall come with silence and observation,
But words of others can shadow the truth.
The truth may lead to fulfillment in life,
But keep your memory of humility and truth.

Strive for the upper reaches in life,
But keep integrity within your sight.
The Lord will reward the keeper of peace,
But success may escape the one who fights.

Even in loss the spirit will guide you,
Allow the Lord to lovingly carry you,
Strength often builds through our lowest times,
He never leaves us but sets us anew.

Whether you can see his plans for your life,
Or if you are stumbling searching his will;
The Lord God will guide you safely through life,
And reward you in thanks and a life that fulfills.

Thursday, July 05, 2007

Time to stop neglecting the site!

This blog is my oldest and original blog. I love it dearly, but it has low numbers, and I only seem to write in it on rare occasion. Time to change that. So, when I have nothing to say about my burgeoning writing career, I'll post pieces of some of my older writings here - sounds like fun, huh? Okay, first piece:

I wrote this way back in 1981 when I was in High School. I had recently discovered that I could write poetry (though my style and meter and such wasn't real good just yet), and this is one of my first offerings as a poet. If you look at it from the point of view of a poetry connoisseur, you will be sadly disappointed, but if you remember it was written by a kid just discovering poetry, it is magically entertaining, and wonderfully insightful. Well, anyway, I suppose it is safe to say this is a poem about my slight teenage paranoia at the time, and I suppose that would be typical considering I was 15.


I'm headed to the football field for the final game,
but somehow the field doesn't seem quite the same.
The lines on the field aren't straight and bright,
Instead they're crooked and faint and hardly white.
The grass is long when it should be short,
And a look around shows no one of the sort.
The crowd is missing to cheer the team on,
And the cheerleaders and teams are also gone.
the parking lot's empty and void of cars,
And the sky is darkening so I can watch the stars.
I see the mountainous horizon as the sun drops under,
And the loneliness makes me seriously wonder.
I came down to see the final game,
Shouldn't others come to do the same?
I remember being told the game was Friday,
Or am I wrong? What did the man say?
Or is it tomorrow? Yes, that sounds better,
Now I feel my face grow redder and redder!
It seems I've committed a memory crime,
For I've come down at the wrong time!
The day was long as was the night. . .
And don't you worry, tomorrow I'll get it right!

Notice that I erroneously state that a Varsity High School Game could actually be played on Saturday - perhaps I am wrong, but I don't recall that ever happening. The High School I went to was a three year high school so as a sophmore, it was my first year there, and I suppose I wasn't aware of the games always being Friday Night.

Hoped you found the poem fascinating, at least, and I'll offer a more recent sample of my writing tomorrow right here at Defender of the Blahs.