I am speeding along,
at break-neck speed
of 25 or 30 MPH
on backroads to morning coffee.
I am in a meeting,
with my friends
who are as smart as I am?
Speed by car
Race. Race.
Larry the Poet is explaining,
his current poem
and is wondering
what form to use?
He has not even touched on words
to select – yet.
Larry the Novelist is stuck.
He relates that 40,000 words
are hid in his computer
But the rest of the words will not come.
Speed by car
Race. Race.
Larry the CEO is questioning,
why there has not been
a podcast in six months.
no written work has been submitted.
He is ready to Kick-Some-Ass.
Larry the Horticulturist asks,
for help this afternoon on
mowing and weeding.
Many beautiful flowerpots are planted.
No one volunteers to help him.
Speed by car
Race. Race.
Larry the Mechanic wants help with
his father’s 1983 Chevrolet pickup.
Seat and grill work are needed,
plus, a general reconditioning.
He does NOT mention the
1976 Jeep Wagoneer stored in the barn,
from his older son killed in 2001,
also in need of repair.
Of course, Larry the Sluggard rides along.
“Let’s eat donuts, drink coffee,
and go home. We have several books
to read and a soft couch in our office.
NO ONE likes this Larry,
but he rides each morning.
Speed by car
Race. Race.
It is a great conversation,
that we partake in for the fifteen-minute ride.
People passing, may think the driver crazy,
since he talks to himself.
It is just that he is in the presence
Of true geniuses.
Speed by car
Race. Race.
FICTION
Night Watch, by Jayne Anne Phillips
A story about a mother and daughter set in the Trans-Allegheny Lunatic Asylum in Weston, W.Va., after the Civil War. “Night Watch,” which was also longlisted for the National Book Award, is about surviving war and its aftermath. “I consider Phillips to be among the greatest and most intuitive of American writers,” wrote our critic Dwight Garner.
HISTORY
No Right to an Honest Living, by Jacqueline Jones
Jones, a historian and a two-time finalist for the Pulitzer Prize, examines the hypocrisy of Boston before the Civil War. The city was known for its antislavery rhetoric and as the center of abolitionism, but Black residents endured “casual cruelty” in the work force and were condemned to lives of poverty without the chance for equal employment.
Some thoughts and reflections over coffee and donut. (Back to Stomping Grounds in Durand, MI — new owner — still same glorious place.)
Such is life. We float along life’s current.
Floundering or steering?
Either is the same.
Our life — body — soul
travels along to an end.
Heaven?
Hell?
Nirvana?
Abyss?
Someday we will know.
We float along in OUR stream
Bouncing off of the bank
Or steering in the middle,
Nothing stops the stream
Nor impedes our journey downstream
Never backwards upstream
And never ahead of schedule.
Each life and journey
is unique.
We all have our burdens
Our triumphs and joys.
The richest and most successful
carries sorrow and regrets.
The lowest — even Mr. Job
carries their joys
Among trails and travesties.
Is Life beautiful?
I don’t know.
Is Life wonderful?
I don’t know.
Is Life challenging?
Yes.
Is Life unique?
Yes.
April ends.
The ending to a favorite poem of mine.
Tennyson — “Ulysses”
Tho’ much is taken, much abides; and tho’
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven, that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.
Continuing onward with April — poetry month.
A couple of mine. Perhaps, have been posted before?
Lake Superior
by L. W. Neitzert
Calm and serene,
she lulls us with cadence washing
of rocks, drift wood, and jettison.
Caring nothing of rules and orders,
she follows her ancient patterns
and obeys laws of physics and chemistry
But beware!
Underneath and at her heart
she is a Killer.
Her fury in November
comes suddenly and deadly.
Ask the Edmund Fitzgerald.
Texas Garden
By L. W. Neitzert
Sitting in this quiet Texas garden
my fellow poets walk by.
Keats, Snyder, and Yeats
Eliot leads Mr. Prufrock
Blind Milton stumbles over
a meditating Ferlinghetti.
Dylan Thomas will arrive later
– when he sobers up.
They are not here to write
their writing complete.
They are here to encourage
me on my way.
Beauty is truth
and truth is beauty,
now it is my time
to create fearful symmetry.
April is poetry month
One that has appeared in this blog before, but a favorite of mine.
I Will Build a Cabin
By L. W. Neitzert
I will go to the woods
and build a cabin there
among the cedars and pines,
and be friends
with snow, rain, and shine.
Near a brook that meanders
and talks and murmurs,
Saying nothing, and yet
— everything.
And books I will read,
not electronics need.
Volumes bound and sturdy
rest on shelves and my chest.
A dog I want to pet and feed,
maybe even a cat I need.
Perhaps Eliot’s cat
that makes a sudden leap
curls once about my house, and falls asleep.
Yes, a cabin I will build
and discover what is willed.
A POEM BY MARY OLIVER
You do not have to be good.
You do not have to walk on your knees
For a hundred miles through the desert, repenting.
You only have to let the soft animal of your body
love what it loves.
Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine.
Meanwhile the world goes on.
Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain
are moving across the landscapes,
over the prairies and the deep trees,
the mountains and the rivers.
Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air,
are heading home again.
Whoever you are, no matter how lonely,
the world offers itself to your imagination,
calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting —
over and over announcing your place
in the family of things.
Chapter 20
“I’ll be leaving Wednesday, Ruth.”
Ruth looked across her table at Jacob. Her husband and oldest brother gone to war. Now her middle brother, and favorite, was following their lead.
“You’re going to join?”
“Yes. There’s a regiment forming in Niles. I’ll join there.”
Another one to “save the Union,” as so many young men here in Michigan were doing. News from the East contained disaster after disaster, and still President Lincoln insisted that the southern states could not succeed from the Union. All the President appeared to know how to do is issue calls for more men and boys to join in fighting rebellion. And they all readily agreed to heed his call.
She was not surprised, but disappointed. Just two days ago Christmas dinner had been here in her large kitchen/living area behind the General Store. Her family and a couple of neighbors had feasted here and not all the dishes and leftovers had been disposed. Her father and a couple of others talked of politics and the war. Her youngest brother, David, was emphatic in his desire to join but was too young and still bound by constraints of parents.
Jacob had said nothing, but she could sense his conflict.
“Does Mother and Father know?”
“Yes.”
“And what do they say?”
“They’re not happy about it. Mother cried and begged me not to go. Father didn’t say much. He offered me one of his best teams and said he would purchase a plow and harrow for me in the spring if I’d not join. When I said I was committed to enlisting, he stormed out the door and went to the barn.”
He was her favorite brother. Four years separated them, so when she was five and six, she put an old rag doll aside and had a real baby to hold, change, and feed. Solomon was always more independent, but Jacob had been hers. Whether it was the early rocking and cooing, or Jacob was not just as adventuresome, he remained closer to his older sister as he grew than her other two brothers.
“Still going to enlist with mother and father not wanting you to do it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“It’s my duty.”
“Duty for what, Jacob?” She could see his distress and angst. She did not want to add to it, and she was certain that this question had been wrestled over and over. “I’m sorry. I know you’ve thought a lot about this, and you’ve always had a strong sense of civic pride and duty. I’m just a woman who is afraid with a husband and brother off to war, and now another brother is going to join their exodus.”
“Thanks, Ruthie for understanding. I’ve thought a lot about this – especially after Solomon joined the Michigan First after For Sumpter.” Jacob reached across the table and took both of his sister’s hands in his. He held them for a moment before continuing. “I have a piece of property. Well, Solomon and I do, together, although I doubt if Solomon ever returns here. He wants to go to New York City, Boston, or some place east. But I will be here. I want my farm – and maybe someday – a family.
“I want my farm where there is not slavery expanding. I do not believe slavery should be in our territories. There will be new states made there in the future and they must enter the Union as free states – just as Michigan and all the area of the Northwest Territories. And the states that have joined the Union must state, as President Lincoln insists. Let them keep their slaves if they want, but you cannot leave the Union whenever there is something you don’t like or agree about.”
She looked across and could not disagree. She just worried as she knew her mother had a half a mile to the north of her. And now another son/brother off to join. She pulled her hands free.
“Come over here.”
He did as ordered and stood next to her. She took his palm and placed it just beneath her breasts. With it resting there, she gently slid it down her abdomen and rested where her navel was lodged under the dress.
“Feel anything?”
“A bump?”
“Yes.” A large smile took the place of her previous worried expression. Jacob took his hand away and joined his sister in happiness.
“That’s wonderful,” he said. He knew of her previous troubles. “When?”
“In the spring.” She sat back with both hands folded across her midsection and he stepped back to his side of the table. “You be sure and come back here. This boy or girl is going to need their uncle to tell them ghost and adventure stories. Solomon will be in New York City, and David will be chasing girls in Landonville, so the job will fall to their Uncle Jacob.”
“Can I smoke my pipe when I tell the stories of monsters and evil trolls?”
“Yes, you can,” she laughed. “And not like Mother, you can smoke your pipe in my house.”
“I need to leave. I’m happy for you and Harry. This is the best news ever.” Jacob returned to the other side and kissed his sister on the cheek. He turned and exited out the back. She sat and watched him leave. Another worry to mix with her newfound joy of pregnancy.
Oh, these men, she thought. A husband and two brothers gone. A third next?
Why did they need to leave home for war? Wasn’t home and meal good enough? Maybe a small child – or children – playing on the floor by a warm fire? A cold Michigan winter night endured in a bed with feather tick and quilts piled on top. Loving arms and legs wrapped around you. Wasn’t that enough?
Why did Harry, Solomon, and Jacob — and so many more – need to leave home to fight?
For adventure?
To show they were brave?
To show they are men?
Why did they think this war was necessary?
Sitting here in a coffee saloon in St. Augustine, Florida on a Sunday morning. Muffin consumed and second cup of coffee purchased. Obligatory electronics performed and consumed. Now just staring at the wall and other coffee consumers in and out for the morning.
Nothing brilliant — just thoughts that wander across my weak brain for those faithful two readers.
The boat we ride in (our life) floats down the River of Life. It cannot go back up stream and it will not hurry forward any faster than the rate at which the current flows. To the END where we ALL WILL go.
But we can determine whether we float along in the stream or bounce off of the banks — pelter-melter. And we can keep the boat upright and not float down stream with the boat over turned.
We decide.
“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood/ And sorry I was that I could not travel both.
I took the road least travelled.”
When we choose one road, and later may feel that was the wrong choice, don’t forget that you made the choice. You cannot tell how joyful or successful the other choice might have been. Sometimes, after a long way down the road, we fantasize that the other choice would have been better.
But we don’t know that! It might have been worse.
All that we know is that YOU/We made the decision and experienced the path — triumph and failure — that we walked.
The order of the Universe
The meaning of the Universe
The purpose of the Universe
Is obtained merely by the view or belief that we choose. We choose the explanation.
AND the explanation appears to us.
Once the choice has been made, our lives have meaning and purpose
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For many the choice — is simply the patterns and beliefs of their parents/society/environment that is foisted upon them. The hold and carry this pattern without thought or reflection.
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It is a privilege and honor for those few individuals who made the courageous and difficult decision to enter that dark abyss and examine their basic beliefs. Choose which make sense for them. Discard those foolish and useless ideas from their past. And gather and nurture those which are TRUE for THEM.
Wasn’t a home and a good meal enough? Maybe a small child – or children – playing on the floor by a warm fire? A cold Michigan winter night endured in a bed with feather tick and quilts piled on top. Loving arms and legs wrapped around you. Wasn’t that enough?
Why did Harry, Solomon, and Jacob — and so many more – need to leave home to fight?
For adventure?
To show they were brave?
To show they are men?
Maybe, they left because they thought that this war was necessary to have those things she wanted and needed?
larry's meanders 