Friday, September 28, 2018

Vigilance is an Honor



                “The price of liberty is eternal vigilance.” This quote, often contentiously attributed to Thomas Jefferson (who may have not said it at all and really may have been said by American Abolitionist and liberal activist Wendell Phillips on January 28, 1852, who may have cribbed it from other prior sources[1]) is still the truest statement regarding the nature of our Republic and our impression of Democracy.

                It has always been our duty as citizens to question the intentions and desires of our electorate in order to preserve the freedoms our forebearers fought for. It is an absolute in our Republic that anyone in a position of power should be questioned about their character, morality and judgment. It is in the better interest of our free society to drill into the marrow of a person poised for power. It is our duty to delve into their hearts, their minds and if possible, their souls to verify they are the type of person that best reflects the character of our Country.

                We must always be vigilant against the tides of despotism, of an unbalanced government, of rampant corruption and electoral apathy. We are historically bound to make this country, for all it’s faults, a better place to live. Not just for ourselves but to future generations that will call this country their home. We have a duty to make sure future Americans will feel pride when they think about the efforts their ancestors made in creating a place where their personal liberties are not infringed upon by an out of control government.

                We must question the nature of intention when any individual decides they want to be a part of a self-run system of government. A government of the people, by the people and for the people. It is imperative we shake the trees of a person’s history, their thought processes, their desire and capability in order to provide equal representation under the law. We must always ask, and ask again if the answer is not satisfactory. We should ask again when that answer is still not satisfactory.

                It is a burden we as citizens must bear as well as the burden of any elected official to answer. It is not easy to be vigilant. It is difficult to maintain a watchful eye on the complexities of politics. The political tensions and tribalism regarding any particular ideal or person can be extremely daunting. Yet, we still must question it. We are honor bound by the sacrifices of so many to ask whether this idea or this person is right and good for all the people. It is correct to question the nature of what is good and right. It is incredibly challenging to break through the clutter, shadows and double-talk our political system seems to overflow with. Yet we must.

                We must take what we learn about any idea or person and weigh it against our interior morality. We must turn the idea or personality in odd ways, see it from every angle if we can and confirm whether it is indeed something decent and beneficial for progress. Progress toward a free and equal society benefiting and reflecting the morality of the present and forward thinking enough to benefit the future.

                Liberty is rare in society; to be able to think and believe and do whatever it is I think is best without a jack-booted thug kicking in my door and threatening me to follow or die is a precious right. We as Americans are imbued with a desire to be free, to not be trod upon, by any dictator, king or despot. It is our liberty, this rare gift of an Age of Enlightenment, that we must protect.

                That precious Liberty we hold so dear is incumbent upon us and those we elect to represent us to ask questions, to ponder the ramifications of any act, plan or political machinations. It is in the asking that the truest form of liberty can shine through. It is in the vigilant questioning we preserve liberty, justice, and equality. We are the makers of our own liberties. We are the shoulders that bare the weight of liberty. We cannot shrug this duty off onto others or pretend through inaction it will somehow take care of itself. We must always be the beacon of liberty to the underrepresented, the downtrodden and the forgotten.
               
                Liberty is not a function of the government, it is a function of We the People attempting to form a more perfect Union. In that forming of liberty and freedom we are saddled with incredible responsibilities. Responsibilities that should never be tossed aside, dismissed or thought to be unpopular. We must vigilantly and vigorously question those in power, power we gave them, to insure our liberties are being protected. It is eternal.


[1] http://www.thisdayinquotes.com/2011/01/eternal-vigilance-is-price-of-liberty.html

Wednesday, September 26, 2018

Wonderstanding



The more I understand,
the more it makes me
wonderstand.

Wonderstanding is
when you get it,
you know all about it,
but can’t stop thinking
about it.

I wonderstand about
my place, my purpose,
my wants, desires, and
how to be someone worthy
of another’s wonderstanding.

I know who I am,
but I don’t exactly
wonderstand why it is
I am who I am and why I
persist.

It would be wonderful,
not to be cursed with this
abundance of wonderstanding,
but I do understand.

I wonderstand about where
she is, what she is doing, how I can
be a part of her life and she a part of
mine. I understand that I just haven’t
met her yet. Or maybe, she hasn’t met me.

Wonderstanding keeps you up
at night, in bed, tossing and turning
with replays of embarrassments and
second guesses.

I can’t stop my wonderstanding,
I’m not sure if I want to. I understand
it can be trepidatious, but I still
yearn for a deeper wonderstanding.  



 - P.S. Don't forget to check out my second volume of poetry for sale at:  https://www.amazon.com/Saying-Too-Much-Second-Poetry/dp/1727135490/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1536762783&sr=1-1&keywords=saying+too+much

Friday, September 21, 2018

Saying Too Much - Get yours soon!



I thought it would be fun to show my wee family memebers engaged with my first book, Never Said Enough, https://www.amazon.com/Never-Said-Enough-Poetry-Collection/dp/149970450X/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1537540849&sr=1-1&keywords=Never+Said+Enough

And my new book, Saying Too Much - https://www.amazon.com/Saying-Too-Much-Second-Poetry/dp/1727135490/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1536762783&sr=1-1&keywords=saying+too+much

They all grow so fast! Thanks for your continued support and try not to get diabetes from all this baby sweetness!

Wednesday, September 12, 2018

Special Announcement!!!!







Dear Loyal readers,

My Second Book of poetry is now available for purchase. Please see the link below.

Thank you all for your continued support!

https://www.amazon.com/Saying-Too-Much-Second-Poetry/dp/1727135490/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1536762783&sr=1-1&keywords=saying+too+much


Tuesday, September 11, 2018

Scar Stories and Remembering



Today we remember the lives lost
seventeen years ago.
We remember the lives that were
irrevocably changed. We remember them
and do our best to show that life does go on.

Uncle Sam absently rubs the scar
where we were hurt, lost in thought,
thinking about that day when
for many of us the world would never
be the same place as it was September 10, 2001.

It’s another scar, marring such a youthful
body, so many scars to cover, to mourn,
to rub fingers over and wince at the causes
of the original injury. So many memorials,
so many battlefields, cemeteries and monuments.

Yet, we’re talented at looking past the scars,
past the deep wounds of our journey as we stare into
our own reflection in the mirror of history. We still
look good. We’re still strong. We’re still here.
We are resilient and good at moving on.

The wounds, the scars, become trophies over time,
badges of honor advertising the crucibles we’ve
endured, the Quint and Hooper of history,
trading scar stories on the Orca as a giant shark
is chasing them down.

We’re not afraid of history. But we should be
wary of its reach. We should keep an eye on
history, vigilant against those that would twist
the narrative to serve their own selfish desires, wants
or seek to devour us in fear.

It is our duty, as those that do go on, to remember.
It is not a passive act to merely note that on this day
lives were forever changed, but to be aware of the ripples
that event caused and to remember the courage of those souls
that went before us and hope, in the same way, we have the same courage.
  

Wednesday, September 5, 2018

Prophecy in Her Eyes



I search for prophecy in her eyes,
some truth about us to be revealed,
a signal that this is the one true thing
in the world that matters, yet all I see
is sickness, vapid lunacy and conflict.

Frosty eyes glittering in a snowy morning,
a paled blue, icy and solid, with no
truth to share other than how wrong I
was to put such optimistic faith in such
unrequited scripture.

I search for prophecy in her eyes, I want
her truth, her loving, her incorruptible passion
laid out open for me to clearly see, those
eyes, watery with longing for the same truth
that I seek.

Prophetic eyes telling me the story of
our loving life, safe in each other’s belief
of each other, trusting, sharing, growing,
into magnificence, without malice or
mistrust.

It’s nightmares I see, prophecies of doom,
shattered hearts and broken dreams, leaving
both in tatters, like storm swept sails on a
ghost ship careening through tormented seas
headed for the rocky shore consigned to the deep.

The prophecy, still unfulfilled, I sit each night,
contemplating the strange disparities between
myself and the loves lost, smothered or vanished,
misspent or otherwise squandered in this constant
and baffling search for the truth in her. Of Her.

Is there any prophecy at all I wonder? Is there any
truth to be had? Is there any destiny visible in the eyes
of a lover, a shared heart, or is it all romanticized nonsense
due to an overactive imagination and Hollywood brainwashing?
Is there a chance that all my beliefs are merely childish fascinations?

Yet I still hope for her eyes, staring into mine,
contemplating the contentment of a mutually shared truth,
and the completion of the ancient rites
of prophecy.  Requited and whole,
reflected in each other’s hopeful souls.  

Tuesday, September 4, 2018

A World



A World of terror and wonder
spinning though an unpredictable
and unrepentant universe, loosely
bound by gravity and hope.

We are untethered in mind, perhaps,
by soul, yet grounded to the world we
have to call home, surrounded by
dangers and desires.

We spin, unnoticed, beyond the
rising and setting of our star, tied to
its fate and a fate that we make for
ourselves regardless of our ultimate ends.

It is on this rock we declare, “I am here”,
shouted to a vast vacuum in the venial hope
we’re heard, we’re acknowledged, we’re
cured of the ills that are our lonely burdens.

This world where love exists, yet for some love seems just
as unreachable as the nearest cosmic neighbor.
A planet of hopes, dreams, wishes, work, and
sweat, of consequence and inconsequence.

A world where nothing means anything against
the ravages or time, but it means everything,
each heart-beat savored, each long kiss delighted,
each touch relished, all to dust in time.

This planet, where we try not to care, we try not
to overreach, underwhelm, overwhelm, whelm,
but seek the equilibrium that comes with acknowledging,
the smallness and the hugeness all at once.

In all things we are simultaneous, existing,
fabricating, and being undone. Skeptical
optimism seen through a cracked telescopic
lens, peering toward a future muddied with the past.

A world, spinning in precious fear, in the dark,
hoping the next rotation, the next orbit, the next swirl,
will bring change, the constant, predictable change,
in our short-sighted eyes.