Daring the Gods (Revised)

So the world sometimes leaves you wondering
of your place in it, whether you've cause and reason
for breath or only habit.

So you look to the sky, or wherever your gods dwell
and fix a gaze forward and hurl yourself along,
drive sixty in a snow storm, carry timber across a lake
in a fourteen foot boat and three foot swells,
the white caps licking at the gunnel, jump
from a thirty foot cliff into dark waters, crawl
into an empty bear's den and run, face blood drained and corpse pale,
when you realize empty is a mistake.
And when it's done, and you're still there, close
your eyes, let your heart slow, let life slow.

It's not time and there are things to carry.
You're still needed.

Knife

You, I know you. Come
to seek solace and redemption
in my silver sheen?

What
is it you want now? A kiss,
a touch like that of a long absent lover?
An edge drawn
through your past your memories of lips
pressed to yours, of silence in northern pines
of whispered slanders, cuts delivered by tongue?

What is it
you want of me? A slow carved
smile, as cure for your malaise,
under your chin?
A clutched embrace, my glistening
self driven like a nail
as you hold me in your heart
like an old love, my edge
shining in the hot
red dark of your pulse

Talk to me no more
of anything less,
you vacillator, you coward.
No more
of your teasing games, your gentle
wounds and puckered flesh as wards
against your insufferable tears

Do you want me? A last
and permanent kiss?
No?
The fold me. Sheath me.
I don’t want to talk to you anymore.

Okay, not really in keeping with the theme but. . .

Okay. So Time just put this up. Perhaps I'm crazy for being a stitch upset about it, but really, this article on the Friday before Father's Day?

Here's what I think is terribly wrong with this article, besides the incredibly poor taste in timing. The article quotes a fair number of statistics (never mind how crappy it does in providing sources) but offers little to only surface level analysis. The thesis of the article ". What's less clear is whether dads--at least as a group--have done a good enough job to deserve the honor," is then tacitly supported by these statistics.

This does a disservice to men and fathers in particular. Social customs and in many states, the legal system is not set up to be conducive to fathers having as a big role as possible in the lives of their children. If a father tries to pay court mandated child support, he is tied to working the job he's at or one that pays more. Most courts will not reduce the amount of child support owed if a father takes a job that pay less. Even if the purpose of that jobe is to go to school to be able to get a better job or simply to be able to spend more time with his children. To say nothing of the problems of mothers moving and taking the children with them. If mom moves to a smaller town (with correspondingly lower paying jobs) the father still cannot accept a lower paying jobe nearer his children.

The situation gets worse when the custody battle is not between once married parents or when paternity is contested. By the time court proceedings are started, the playing field is slanted toward the mother, who has retained sole custody the entire time.

The article, goes into none of this. It's irresponsible at best, and deliberately biased and slanted at worst.

But, of course, I could be nuts or overreacting. :) Y'all can tell me.

Oh, and I swear I'll get back to posting some actual writing soon. I promise.

Daring Gods

So the world sometimes leaves you wondering
of your place in it, whether you've cause and reason.

So you look to the sky, or wherever your gods dwell
and fix a gaze forward and hurl yourself along,
drive 60 in a snow storm, carry timber across a lake
in a fourteen foot boat and three foot swells, jump from a thirty foot cliff
into dark waters, crawl
into an empty bear's den and run, face blood drained and corpse pale,
when you realize empty is a mistake.
And when it's done, and you're still there, close
your eyes, let your heart slow, let life slow.

It's not time. You're still needed.

Oak Trees Are the Most Hopeful

Because only they keep their leaves
despite a winter hibernation.
Pines while away the winter still green,
a testimony to toughness
rather than hope.
Only oaks cling to their dead and shriveled
leaves in faith of spring's return
and rattle them at you in the wind;
a reminder that frozen and dark
days don't last
and when their leaves finally fall,
green, warmth and sunlight
aren't far behind.

Crawling in Caves & Shadows

Hidden
I’ve stayed, gathering night shadows like small
pox blankets around my shoulders, comfort
in the short term
and, anyway, I already have a hacking
cough.

Tree limb shadows stripe
My skin as if lashes from a lover’s whip,
Cover my scars
Like pale silk veils.

I scutter, low, until transfixed;
a bright moon
nails
me naked to the forest floor
stripping layers and masks
collapsing shuttered
realities, narrowing
possibilities like a box opened on a dead
cat, a wave not just broken
but that never was.

Staring, silent, a dumb
animal, clawed night fingers
thrust up from tree trunks
mark time against the wheeling
night sky, stars turned pin-wheel lines
if only the retina carried a memory.

I am pieces projected, scraps displayed
in willful syncopation, beautiful patches
proudly shown to distract from the shoddy
and unfinished quilt. . .
My gestalt thickens,
becoming less protection and more definition.

No dog, but a cold and lonely wolf,
too frightened to seek warmth
and servitude or friendship
at distant fires
so,
I turn, moving into the deeper dark.

Ashamed: A brief rant and apology

First, I want to be clear. I’m not ashamed of my military service. Far from it. I’m not ashamed of any of the men and women in uniform not even the ones who have been found guilty or stand accused murder and abuse. For them I feel at worst pity and sadness.

I served in the Minnesota National Guard for 8 years. I loved it. I loved everything about it. I even loved the shear mindless nihilism of sitting for hours next to my howitzer (and it was always “my” howitzer) waiting for something, anything to happen.

At the end of 8 years, and having been deployed to Britain for six months and missing the first three months of my first child’s life (I was lucky enough to be able to be there for his birth; other with me at the time missed the birth of their children) I did not re-enlist. I wanted to. I talked it over with my wife. We both knew what was likely to happen, as the war in Iraq went on and steady progression of Reserve and Guard units were deployed. The week my term of service ended, a car bomb killed three National Guardsmen in Iraq. I didn’t re-enlist.

A year later, my unit was activated, for a year long deployment to Iraq, with approximately six months training before leaving. They were due to come home in March of this year. Yesterday, as part of our “new way forward” their tours of duty were extended by one hundred and twenty-five days.

I am no knee jerk patriot. I have never believed the war in Iraq was necessary, although I did not think it was entirely “evil,” either. It has, however, been terribly mismanaged to the terrible detriment of both Iraqis and the soldiers involved.

And I am ashamed I did not re-enlist. My friends, my buddies stayed and went. Everyday I watch for their names in casualty lists. Everyday, I know, not think, but know I should be there. I’m ashamed I haven’t done more for them. Ashamed for letters unwritten and support not given.(see comment for finish)

Winter

Burn me down, like a
Soltice bonfire in the chill
Shudder of cold nights