Tree

Scabbed and ugly...coarse and raw
Unattractive...even in Fall
A tree so dead, so sore and mute
Diseased from top, thru trunk and root
Where foliage bursting rich with green
Once gave out shelter, shade, and peace...
Where odors rich with summer's sweet
Did rain on lovers down beneath...
Now stands the stalk of chaff, of death
A grave of winter's chilly breath...
Now reeks the stench of lifeless pulp
A finger of earth...free of pulse.

And here in winter...dead, not free
I am a man...I am the tree.

Nearer My God to Thee

This is achingly beautiful, in the sense that I still return to listen to it whenever I remember to do so.  I dare not say that music isn't the way it used to be, being the skeptical musician I am.  Of course music isn't the way it used to be.  Music evolves...always has and always will.  Good or bad is in the eye of the beholder.  Rather, I will say that the verses in this song, written by the hand that listened to their heart, in that RIGHT place AND time in 1841 so that this was penned...up to the point this choir brilliantly captured it...is completely unique. 

Thank you to Sarah Adams for this work.  Thank you also to all artists living or not, especially those afflicted of the heart for whatever reason, who take the moments to wrestle your words onto paper against your own grief for those of us in the future who cope.
 
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rwLl5nY5WPI

Happy Young Girl

Happy young girl
Boy at her side
Locked and geared up
For the entire ride.

They chanced on a hill
Then crashed one good time
But felt themselves move
So onward they drive.

"Oh no," she says.
"What, love?" he asks.
"The cliff is ahead!"
She shouts and he laughs.

"Cliffs or canyons...
Oceans or skies...
I'm getting us through this,"
He promises...but lies.

Ideas are ideal,
Reality is real
The boy moves ahead
With pitiful zeal.

Today now they sit
And drown in the tide
The happy young girl
And boy at her side.

Part 3 of a serene moment in a little coffee shop...

Number one, you were my son,
You would have been my pride.
But Labor Day
Took you away
You left me 'cause you died.

Number two, I was renewed
In faith you would arrive
But Christmastime
Would pass me by
Just like you did in life.

Number three, you were to be
My little girl named Mary
And once again
My eyes so dim...
They watched your soul be buried.

Number four, you were the door
Still cracked to light of hope.
Your name was Chad,
That's all you had
Cause you joined your siblings three.

I'm glad you cannot see your dad
And what he has become
He writes these things
Which no one reads
And cannot see the sun.

So dance or play wherever you are and thank the Creator for such...I'm having a bit of trouble as of late.

Poem today

These eyes...can't quite see
And yet, I'm not blind
I'm not suicidal...
But willing to die
I plead the Creator
But it's not a prayer
Surrounded by loved ones
And nobody's there
I've strained for the teardrops
Yet I do not cry
I'm filled with a heartbeat
But nothing's inside
I've tasted God's mercy
And can't feel the peace
I read back this poem
But don't find release.

Change

I think that beginning today, I'll just assume this blog as a depression-oriented site. Since it is not treated as a serious writing outlet, I will treat it the way I usually do writing in general...a channel. Enjoy at my expense.

Dear God,

I'm very numb.

JR Gould (1952 - 2013)

You were a precious spirit in a wretched world.  From this point forward, not a day will go by we won't feel the aching hole that is your absence.  The nine years I was privileged to spend as your son-in-law were nine of the best ones I could have ever asked for.  I will try to model my life in a way that would honor not only you, but especially the God you loved so much.  Thank you for the example you were.  This is selfish, but I can only trust God that there was sufficient enough reason for you to be taken from us so soon because right now I truly miss your smile and reassuring voice...more than ever.  It will be a wonderful day when we meet again.  Keep watch over our three little ones and enjoy the kingdom of the promise. 

Andy,
The favorite son-in-law     

"Falls and Factories: a celebration of self-pity through photography"

I post this photograph of me at the middle falls at Burgess Falls today because just a little over a year ago at the same spot, I did such a thing.  No big blog or anything, just a glance at how the shell has aged in the same shirt and striped brown hat.

Neutrality

The world does not destroy you through negativity. It destroys you by neutralizing you. I discovered a love of communicating with people face to face at the same time the world discovered social networking. I discovered an interest in teaching guitar at the same time the world discovered an interest in channeling the likes of Lady Gaga into the hearts of young people. I discovered politics at a young age at the same time the world discovered ways to make the age of twenty-one far more appealing. I discovered the church when the world discovered it can be promise to be the same thing. I discovered that hard-work is an ideal worth pursuing at the same time the world discovered it can rest on the backs of those who cling to such ideals. I discovered a love of reading tangible books at the same time the world discovered e-books eliminate the need to hold something in your hands. I discovered a love of the liberal arts through history at the same time the world discovered it needed science and math far more than obsolete arts. I discovered a love of marriage at the same time the world discovered it could laugh at it. I disovered a love of finding the preciousness in time when the world discovered jobs that have a love of seizing it from you. I discovered that whenever I find something positive, the world discovers something neutral.

An old favorite (or at least, to prove I do have some form of talent)

http://m132.photobucket.com/albumview/albums/sugarhamster_2006/squareegg007.jpg.html?o=5

J. R. Tomlin on Writing and More: More about writing believable sword fights

J. R. Tomlin on Writing and More: More about writing believable sword fights