Catching Up

It’s been a fairly quiet Saturday, a day of rest and of catching up. I posted my poems from Thursday and Friday earlier today. I’ve written the first draft of today’s poem, which I will post later, probably tomorrow. I’ve written in my journal, and some of that may find its way into a blog post and I’ve done more in the Modern Poetry class I’m taking. Some of the stuff I’ve written there will most likely become a blog post later on.

On Facebook, I joined a discussion about altar rails in the Episcopal Church and about the upcoming primary. I added a snarky comment to one discussion about Harriet Tubman on the $20 bill. Some people have been posting comments questioning how they could do that, she’s not a president. Others have pointed out that Franklin and Hamilton weren’t presidents either. The response to that is, “Yeah, but they were founding fathers.”

To this I replied, “How can we maintain the patriarchy if we allow people who aren't fathers on our currency?!

I shared a news article about a judge joining a veteran with PTSD behind bars

For my friends trying to understand mysteries like the incarnation, crucifixion, resurrection, and how we make sense of them; a real life parable:

The kingdom of God is like a judge who sentenced a man to prison, and then spent the night with the man in prison, showing love and sharing personal stories.

I did some laundry, a dump run, and some yard work. Perhaps not as much resting as I would have liked or should have done, but it has been a good day.

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#NaPoWriMo 22: Friday Evening

Day in and Day out
leads into
driving home
on a Friday evening,
with eyelids twitching
and stomach grumbling.

I’ve been to enough meetings
this week
and the world can survive
even if I take
a little time to rest.

Some friends
are asking others,
“how is tonight different
from every other night?”

For too many,
it isn’t.
The sense of
and mystery
is lost
in the daily grind.

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#NaPoWriMo 21: Day Poem

I started this poem
about sixteen hours ago;
the first stanzas
about morning prayer,
checking email,
and social media.

They were followed by
breakfast – oatmeal,
a shower,
and leaving for work.

A trip to the
just opened
and nearly empty
post office
an unusual
as a clerk showed great kindness
while we filled out the forms
for my daughter’s passport.

The work day started
with calls from the car
and meetings with activists
all before
noon day prayer.

The afternoon was filled
with technology
and video conferences.
Soon it was time
for evening prayer
and a meeting.

A drive home,
a quick bite to eat
and polishing the poem
concluded the time
before compline and sleep.

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How does Racism Impact your Life?

Yes, I’m asking you, the people I know online, on Facebook, Twitter, LinkedIn, Google+ and other places. How does racism impact your life? Share your thoughts in response to the blog post, in comments on Facebook, in retweets etc. Listen to what others are saying. Feel free to ask clarifying questions.

Please try to refrain from attacking other people or their opinions. Let’s keep the discussion as open as possible, no matter how uncomfortable it might feel. If you are feeling really bold, ask a question like this, in your own way, to your friends, whether you do it face to face, one on one, or online to a large group.

Later, I’ll provide some context for this question, but I don’t what my context to shape your response.

How does racism impact your life?

Reading Frost

The most recent online class I'm participating in is Poetry in America: Modernism. People have been sharing there reactions to Frost's poem The Pasture, many of them seeming not to appreciate the beauty of clearing out a spring. My comment in the group:

I find it interesting, and perhaps a little sad, reading what others have written about the poem, and especially about the chores that Frost had to do. I grew up not far from Robert Frost’s stone house and as a kid often visited his grave. I walked on leaves no step had trodden black, and cleared dead leaves from pasture springs. It was some of the happiest days of my childhood. I savored that time.

The chores were not an uninteresting tedium to be endured, they were moments of blessed solitude and contemplation. I would prefer to do them myself, but if a close friend was around, I would invite them to this special place, you come too.

I would stay, as long as I reasonably could, to watch the water clear. Generally, I read most of Frost’s poems quite literally. I know the beauty of water clearing in a spring. Yet there is some important clearing that goes on, as you watch a spring clear, and that is your mind clearing.

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