“All our words are but crumbs that fall down from the feast of the mind.”
—Kahlil Gibran, Sand and Foam
Some people are not especially verbal and prefer to communicate through their writings. That is me. Call my ramblings crumbs of my rich inner world, and expressions of thoughts and feelings. The result is sometimes opaque and other times not. Articulate writing is always necessary because creativity requires enunciation of some sort.
At a young age, I thought of becoming a sportswriter and I did acquire a journalism degree although I did not use it to earn my living. After college as a sideline, I was involved in sports writing to cover college basketball players and teams. Later, I wrote folk and celtic music CD reviews to give recognition to lesser-known singers and songwriters and educate the celtic and folk music buying public so they might make informed buying decisions.
Now it is time reach inside and bring forth poems, lyrics, essays and plays.
- My previous music CD reviews site
- My most recent basketball writings
- Some of my older basketball writings
I welcome your thoughts. Send me an email message.
Post of the Month
Three women of wisdom departed from Gal-veston
bearing insight, learning scars plus a large dose of mirth
So would it be north of the Ganges?
Or south of the Pecos?
Well, they never were much into following, directions or otherwise
For anyplace was now truly their place
Or soon would be
Paris, Texas truly being Paris, France in the heart
These daughters of the American Revelation had quieted their internal fires
no more emulation of The Furies
Not that they would ever go gently into that good night.
Their newly adopted modus operandi:
polish their rough edges of survival,
continue seeking truths despite its varieties and beckoning detours
answer the conundrum why karma is always a bitch and never a bastard.
After enlightening the Four Horseman into turning the other cheek
by choosing to instead rep Win-Win, Peace, Cornucopia and Everlasting Life
the trio entered the modest state of Whimsy, population: depends on the day and time
A few denizens milled about.
One, a forlorn carpenter crossed the road in front of them
distributing cards reading “I build bridges, not fences.”
A slovenly lawyer turned and addressing no one in particular asked:
“where might I find the court of public opinion?”
In the corner cafe, the literati argued fervently over the divinity of the Brothers Grimm versus the Sisters Bronte,
This certainly was not Kansas.
One street over, the wise trio noticed a burned out hulk bobbing out in the water
Ambling past free range fruit pickers, a gnarled man shuffled towards them
He said, “I am Noah and some say I failed miserably
I faithfully acquired two of each but with ‘don’t ask, don’t tell, how was I to know?
Nowadays, I meander about awaiting further instruction, grabbing thunder in order to quiet the constellations.”
But a little past due, scarred voices rang into the heads of the threesome
these cries and whispers unrecorded in history books,
vocal eruptions of scorching terror and fear,
plaintive outbursts from humanity’s collective unconscious,
these were debts of horror neither dollars nor words could repay or repair
burdens borne by the innocent.
Soon, over the ridge crept a wagon train sporting a skeleton crew
From it came an overpowering vibration of cosmic energy
A townsperson pointed and quietly mouthed Truth or Consequences”
But what did that mean?
It actually was more a statement:
Those exhibiting predatory predilection
secular or otherwise
would be rendered into a void
a suspension into everpresent miasma
before eventually returning as those they harm
unless and until getting right with the purpose of life.
Facing the wagons, the women spoke in harmony:
“There is no glory in bombs bursting in air or any rockets’ red glare
For this we know, the very hard way
We have heard you are of true emancipation
and not another corrosive ball and chain that poisons the magic.”
There was no audible response
The crocuses continued their dawn-to-dusk interpretive ballet
Caterpillars sang and butterflies barked
The wise trio continued: “What guides us?
Enlightenment as a springboard towards grace”
All remained silent
Then a puff of white smoke emerged from the lead wagon
The women said “yes, we were once but now are not who you seek”
That they weren’t
Because, nevertheless, they had persisted.