Doing only what we’re told
Not all sects are cults, it’s clear,
But each cult is too a sect:
All others are seen with fear,
Only those inside respect.
If we tell ourselves a lie
And repeat it night and day
Soon it is all right to kill
Any that our leaders say
Go against our own god’s will…
Steven Shoemaker
Urbana, Illinois
[Friday, November 13, 2015, Paris]
What we called “Jewels”
are now called “Junk.”
And what we straight guys called “Heaven”
is now called a “Hoohaw.”
[Nota bene: if one clicks “like” on this post, it does NOT mean one approves of this degradation of nomenclature. Rather, a “like” indicates gratitude to the author for pointing out yet another sign of impending disaster. 😇]
The Gateway Arch is higher than
a building sixty stories tall.
Foundations underground, unseen,
go down for sixty feet. In all,
concrete and steel above, below,
weigh almost 40,000 tons.
But we see air, for Eero
Saarinen drew the leaping lines
into the sky, and stainless steel
reflects the clouds, and frames the sun.
The brave will ride a tram and feel
at apex angel-like, heaven-
residing happy holy beings,
although with very nervous bellies…
Trains are steel and men are flesh–
When they meet some men will die.
He lay crushed, those passing by,
“He was just a railroad man.”
The dispatcher heard them talk–
He told his friends down at the Y.
Cleveland built a Railroad Y
Welcomed all the working men.
Nineteen hundred eleven
Saw two hundred railroad Y’s
Eat some chow, get some shut-eye,
Read a book–a healthy man.
Railroads paid for about half–
Workers gave to help their life.
Dignity, respect, human:
Yes, he was a railroad MAN.
St. Louis Railroad YMCA, now a Drury Inn
The day we remember
at the Memorial Service
a friend of 55 years, some
will say he was a human
having a spiritual experience,
looking to the skies for the
one who’s “passed on”.
Others of us remember
the face, the smile, the stride,
the fitness, the speech
and mannerisms during
walks in the mountain woods
of a real human having a
spiritual experience.
Are we flesh and blood,
living on the eternal’s shore
turned back to dust?
Or are we stardust that
never dies, immortals
experiencing mortality
before returning to the sky?
Has he died or passed on?
Are the ashes and memories
of Phil what remain of him
or were his smile, his walk
and talk just time-bound
expressions of a spiritual
being locked in a cage?
I hear no bird singing but
the funeral dirge and hymn
reminding us to think
less of ourselves and our
not-so exceptional species
of flesh and blood, dust and
ashes left in cemetery urns.
“O God, our help in ages
past, our hope for years to
come, we fly forgotten as
a dream dies at the opening
day. Be Thou our guide
while life shall last and
our eternal home.”
Today our tears again will
fall, as do all creatures
great and small when
time’s short river returns
to the eternal ebb and flow
whence we came and to
which all soon return, with
sobs of humility and praise.
Steve’s kite
Why Do You Fly Kites?
You kid of 72,
Reliving your childhood?
Child-like, or childish?
Prairie winds are strong,
Annoying to some.
I choose to revel in them,
Let the wind lift my spirits,
Carry kite and me skyward.
But you can no longer run,
Cannot pull the kite aloft,
Cannot even trot…
A delta kite lifts itself
In even a mild breeze.
When high above,
I tie the line to a stake,
And sit with beer in hand,
And look up.
Verse — From Mid-West Farms
…In Sidney, Illinois, the Elevator
waits for grain. The corn, the beans,
arrive in wagons or in trucks the farmers
drive. The loaded truck is weighed.
…The boy was only nine when first he steered the Farmall tractor with the corn
in wagons from grand-daddy’s farm
to here. Now twenty-five tons fill
his semi-truck. The probe descends
to measure moisture in the beans–
13 point 3 percent, a little wet,
but very close.
…The operators flip the switch on side
of truck, the grain descends through grates, the augers twist, the fans begin
to dry soybeans until the days the trains
arrive. In 20 seconds each train car is filled.
…The empty truck is weighed, the receipt
given to the driver. Shift, accelerate, and steer…go get another load. From 6 a.m.
to 9 p.m., the harvest days are long,
but it is happy work.
Published with apologies to Steve for insertion of … in place of indentation.
when my dad was old
in his seventies
often he would say
my good ear
his head would turn
one eye widen
forehead wrinkle
mouth turn down
if he then heard
perhaps a smile
or sympathetic nod
if still silence
a frozen face
Each year pounds have started to show.
On belly and butt they do grow.
I decided then
That I would lose ten
And I only have fifteen to go!
Prairie grassland, Photo by Kay Stewart
Each alone and
all together
planted on
the prairie plain
we go nowhere
in sleet and snow
wind and rain
scorching heat
and frigid cold
sun and drought
quarter moons
half moons
three-quarter moons
full moons
no moons
starless nights
and starlit nights
we stay and wait
for nothing in
particular knowing
who and where
we are — a prairie
grassland sown
for us to be our
own true selves
together and alone.
– Gordon C. Stewart, Hutton Niobrara Ranch Wildlife Sanctuary near Bassett, Nebraska, September 23, 2015.
Views from the Edge 