tag:jimweber.com,2005:/blogs/testing-the-blog?p=2The Thinking Poet2023-09-17T19:30:02-05:00Jim Weberfalsetag:jimweber.com,2005:Post/72748002023-09-17T19:30:02-05:002023-10-16T09:50:02-05:00The Thinking Poet - II. I Wandered Through Fog<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/204256/663c1349d27cac239c9acdf734c7dec411c768aa/original/dd-painting-photo-banner-crop-1100x220pixels.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><p><strong>II. I Wandered Through Fog</strong></p><p>I wandered through fog today, thick-headed, <br>Drooping, an unwatered plant,<br>Weary from having been shaken awake<br>By a fictitious riot that culminated<br>In a vicious murder by a rabid crowd,<br>Egged on by a soulless leader,<br>Also fictional, as far as I know,<br>Invented over one hundred fifty years ago,<br>But all too real, all too much like<br>Current rabid crowds, real ones,<br>Egged on to recent vicious murders, actual ones,<br>By soulless leaders, one in particular.<br>The resemblance was striking<br>Between these events and their perpetrators,<br>Unrelated by ideologies,<br>But identical in their darkness,<br>Historical twins, along with their hideous brethren<br>From uncountable other ages and places.<br>Their demon howl echoes down the centuries, <br>The bloody legacy of a species<br>That dreams of heaven<br>With both feet planted in hell.</p><p><strong>Reflection</strong>:<br>1.Think of a time when you felt rage about some wrong in the world. <br>2.If you have not felt rage about the wrongs of others, what has kept you from feeling that?<br>3.What, if anything, did you do in response to the wrong? If you didn’t do anything, what could you do?</p>Jim Webertag:jimweber.com,2005:Post/72659922023-08-30T18:40:55-05:002023-08-30T18:40:55-05:00The Thinking Poet - I Intended To Walk<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/204256/663c1349d27cac239c9acdf734c7dec411c768aa/original/dd-painting-photo-banner-crop-1100x220pixels.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><p><strong>I Intended To Walk</strong></p><p>I intended to walk this morning<br>In the clear, blue cold of winter,<br>To watch birds squabble,<br>Feel the wind chill my face,<br>And read from the book of life.<br>But on my way<br>I passed through the fair field<br>Where welcome signs are posted,<br>Even though ancient invaders<br>Left exploding mines<br>For anyone who would pass.<br>I have no map but experience <br>To show where the bombs lie,<br>And once again I am fooled,<br>Invited and ambushed<br>By the owner whose posted signs <br>Should warn that trespass here<br>Will cost a limb.</p><p><strong>Reflection</strong><br>1.All of us experience mine fields that change our day. What mine field did you stumble into recently?<br>2.Did the mine field change your outlook, as well as your circumstances? How?<br>3.Have you recovered a hopeful outlook, or are you still working on that? </p>Jim Webertag:jimweber.com,2005:Post/72599942023-08-20T16:36:23-05:002023-08-20T16:36:24-05:00The Thinking Poet - I Gaze Out<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/204256/663c1349d27cac239c9acdf734c7dec411c768aa/original/dd-painting-photo-banner-crop-1100x220pixels.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><p><strong>I Gaze Out</strong></p><p>I gaze out the kitchen window<br>As I wash the lunch dishes,<br>Past the snaggle of branches,<br>Oak, pine, hackberry, and hickory,<br>All in their winter skeletons<br>Except for the hackberry<br>Which wears a robe of English ivy<br>Like Adam and Eve,<br>Full of shame at its nakedness,<br>Past the tan concrete interstate wall,<br>Its screaming inhabitants<br>Flying by like wasps on the attack,<br>Not even visible until you feel their stings,<br>Past silver light poles, still as sentries,<br>To the unmarked, cerulean sky.<br>I sigh, drop my shoulders, <br>Unfurl my brow, and smile.<br>Something in us is made <br>To stare into the distance.</p><p><strong>Reflection</strong><br>1.Describe the setting that helps you feel this way. When was the last time you went there?<br>2.What does that setting evoke in you? <br>3.What is it about that setting that brings that out in you?</p>Jim Webertag:jimweber.com,2005:Post/72565192023-08-13T16:59:13-05:002023-08-13T16:59:14-05:00The Thinking Poet - Who Am I Talking To<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/204256/663c1349d27cac239c9acdf734c7dec411c768aa/original/dd-painting-photo-banner-crop-1100x220pixels.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><p><strong>Who I Am Talking To</strong></p><p>I don’t know who I am talking to.<br>I imagine you to be someone<br>Who can read.<br>Well, that narrows it down a little.<br>And someone who would <br>Read a poem.<br>Having culled out a majority<br>Of the human race,<br>I imagine the remaining few of you<br>To be interested in text<br>That is less sensational than thoughtful,<br>Less active than contemplative,<br>Less redundant than this sentence <br>Was going to be,<br>More interested in my thoughts<br>Than wives tend to be,<br>More curious about twenty-five lines<br>Than I would be, if they weren't mine,<br>More interested in a view of the world<br>Through the peepholes of someone else's eyes,<br>Than anyone without the patience of a saint or a mother.<br>That's it then. I am talking to my mother,<br>The saint who listens to her babbling child<br>Because, after all, listening<br>Is the language of love.</p><p><strong>Reflection</strong><br>1.Who listens to you the way you long to be listened to? How do you feel about that person?<br>2.Who do you listen to with the “patience of a saint or a mother?” <br>3.How might your life be different if you were listened to more and if you listened more?</p>Jim Webertag:jimweber.com,2005:Post/72525542023-08-05T15:44:37-05:002023-08-05T15:44:38-05:00The Thinking Poet - A Box<p><strong><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/204256/663c1349d27cac239c9acdf734c7dec411c768aa/original/dd-painting-photo-banner-crop-1100x220pixels.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></strong></p><p><strong>A Box</strong></p><p>I am building you a box<br>From the slats of an old swing,<br>One that hung on our porch<br>For a short time<br>After I rescued it <br>From roadside abandonment,<br>Thinking it a treasure<br>To be cleaned up<br>And given a new life of joyful service.<br>May this simple container <br>Carry on the tradition<br>Of the porch swing,<br>Singing with joy<br>As you roll the dice<br>Of story and of life<br>For yourself<br>And your friends.</p><p><strong>Reflection</strong><br>1.Have you ever re-purposed an item so that it becomes something useful again? What made you think you could do that?<br>2.Have you ever made a gift of something you made or re-made? What was the receiver’s response to your gift?<br>3.When you give to others what kind of response do you want from them? </p>Jim Webertag:jimweber.com,2005:Post/72496842023-07-30T18:58:43-05:002023-07-30T18:58:43-05:00The Thinking Poet - Night Mythology<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/204256/663c1349d27cac239c9acdf734c7dec411c768aa/original/dd-painting-photo-banner-crop-1100x220pixels.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><p><strong>Night Mythology</strong></p><p>Night mythology<br>Left over from someone else's youth<br>Who viewed this time of day<br>As the Rome toward which<br>All times lead,<br>The Christmas of the week <br>When the presents of friendship or love<br>Waited to be unwrapped<br>As dances, dates, dinners - <br>All dreams of the young<br>In search of their own kind,<br>In search of the very one<br>Of their kind who would fulfill <br>A thousand unspoken wishes.<br>Then they find the one,<br>And for a moment,<br>Night is filled with stars<br>And the scent of honeysuckle,<br>Long, warm kisses, <br>And the ravenous touch<br>Of another's hand.<br>But night mythology follows our lives<br>Through the screaming alarm<br>Of groggy feedings,<br>Shared child prayers,<br>Worrisome first sleep-overs,<br>Nervous first dates,<br>Unplanned, long conversations,<br>Anxious waiting up,<br>And the echoing silence <br>Of the empty nest.<br>Through the wine press of age,<br>Night loses its shimmer,<br>Becoming afternoon's dark-haired sister<br>With no special ambiance of her own,<br>That is, until she returns<br>In one glorious finale<br>To sweep us away <br>To a first new dawn.</p><p><strong>Reflection</strong><br>1.What did night mean to you when you were a child? Does it still carry that meaning, or did it change?<br>2.What does night to you at your current stage of life? Can you imagine how that might change as your life changes?<br>3.How will you adapt to the changes that life inevitably brings to you? Can you anticipate them?</p>Jim Webertag:jimweber.com,2005:Post/72457082023-07-22T10:42:53-05:002023-07-22T10:42:54-05:00The Thinking Poet - Drum Corps<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/204256/663c1349d27cac239c9acdf734c7dec411c768aa/original/dd-painting-photo-banner-crop-1100x220pixels.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><p><strong>Drum Corps</strong></p><p>A far away drum corps,<br>Muted by wind,<br>Uniformed in gray,<br>Beats in random cadence<br>All around me,<br>Speckling window panes<br>With moving prisms<br>That catch night lights<br>And spin them dancing <br>To heavenly rhythms.</p><p><strong>Reflection</strong><br>1. How often do you stop to observe what is going on around you? What happens inside you when you do?<br>2. Close your eyes for a quiet minute or two, and listen to the sounds around you. What do you hear? Do the sounds make you think or feel anything?<br>3. How long can you listen before other thoughts start to intrude? Try to extend that time by listening more intently.</p>Jim Webertag:jimweber.com,2005:Post/72390922023-07-09T14:03:13-05:002023-07-09T14:03:14-05:00The Thinking Poet - Not Half<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/204256/663c1349d27cac239c9acdf734c7dec411c768aa/original/dd-painting-photo-banner-crop-1100x220pixels.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><p><strong>Not Half</strong></p><p>Not half, but more than half,<br>A week away from a were's terror,<br>Lopsided of face,<br>Rolling up the night,<br>A silver tire, flattened on one side,<br>Cut, perhaps, by star shards<br>That sparkled light years ago<br>To accompany your limping hike<br>Across my crystalline January sky.</p><p><strong>Reflection:</strong><br>1. When was the last time you let your imagination run when looking at a natural object. Did you enjoy it, or not? If not, what kept you from enjoying it?<br>2. Pick something in your view, and re-imagine it as something else with a different existence or even a point of view. What is the value of such an exercise of imagination?<br>3. What keeps you from doing this more often, especially if you enjoy it? How could you make a place in your life for exercising your imagination?</p>Jim Webertag:jimweber.com,2005:Post/72322372023-06-25T17:46:08-05:002023-06-25T17:47:19-05:00The Thinking Poet - In The Drizzle<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/204256/663c1349d27cac239c9acdf734c7dec411c768aa/original/dd-painting-photo-banner-crop-1100x220pixels.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p><strong>In The Drizzle</strong></p><p>Out into the misty night I will go<br>Because you asked,<br>Because you didn't want<br>To wet your hair in the drizzle,<br>Though you weren't planning to be seen<br>By anyone but me,<br>And I know you were not <br>Saving your hair for me<br>Like a young lover might.<br>You simply didn't want to be wet,<br>And I, like an old lover,<br>Don't care about getting wet<br>Or whether you were thinking<br>Of me or your hair<br>Or anything at all<br>But that the mail not be left<br>In the mailbox all night.</p><p><strong>Reflection</strong><br>1. What sacrifices does love make for the beloved? Are they imbued with deep feeling, or are they just mundane actions?<br>2. When was the last time you did some small act of love for someone? What was their response? Did their response matter to you?<br>3. Who does little acts of love for you? How did you respond the last time they did that?<br>4. Does thinking about this make you want to do anything different?</p>Jim Webertag:jimweber.com,2005:Post/72291522023-06-19T17:37:51-05:002023-06-19T17:38:37-05:00The Thinking Poet - Broken Castle<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/204256/663c1349d27cac239c9acdf734c7dec411c768aa/original/dd-painting-photo-banner-crop-1100x220pixels.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p><strong>Broken Castle</strong></p><p>Since boyhood <br>I believed in you, trusted you,<br>Listening to your passionate prayers,<br>Your heartfelt singing,<br>Your delicate unfolding of truth's flower<br>As a gardener examines each petal,<br>As a lover explores his beloved,<br>And I saw in you<br>Wisdom worth learning,<br>Journeys worth following,<br>Lesson by lesson <br>As the mile markers flicker by.<br>I built a castle of vision,<br>Founded on your shoulders,<br>A tower from which <br>I could gaze upon the world<br>And recognize distant shores.<br>But while I was gazing<br>I saw you, crawling out <br>From your foundation place,<br>And shifting before my eyes,<br>Once a solid stone,<br>Turning now to sand,<br>Washed away from me<br>And from solidity itself<br>By preposterous tides<br>To which you clung<br>In denial of all you once knew<br>And all you once taught,<br>So that truth disintegrated<br>Around self-serving falseness.<br>And as the castle crumbles,<br>From bottom to top,<br>I wonder what solid stone<br>Can I find now on which to perch?<br>What rock will not erode <br>Before the tide of falsehood<br>That carried you and my trust in you<br>Away forever?</p><p><strong>Reflection</strong><br>1. Have you ever felt betrayed by a group or individual you once trusted? Were you wrong to trust them in the first place, or did they change in some way? How did that affect you?<br>2. What did you lose when you were betrayed, and how have you reacted to that loss?<br>3. If the “castle” can be restored, what is our part in that?<br>4. Assuming that the “castle” cannot be restored, what do you do now to replace it and find the good things it used to offer you?</p>Jim Webertag:jimweber.com,2005:Post/72249102023-06-11T20:53:18-05:002023-06-11T20:53:18-05:00The Thinking Poet - The Lion<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/204256/663c1349d27cac239c9acdf734c7dec411c768aa/original/dd-painting-photo-banner-crop-1100x220pixels.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><p><strong>The Lion</strong></p><p>I see the lion over the dome,<br>Flexed, crouched, ready to spring,<br>Jagged teeth and claws<br>Able to rip flesh from bone.<br>You, in your factless fantasy,<br>Thought he was there to destroy,<br>When he was actually there to protect<br>The defeat of evil, your evil, by good,<br>The vanquishing of falsehood, your falsehood, by truth,<br>The overcoming of violence, your violence, by justice.<br>You now have an opportunity<br>To attack or join the lion,<br>Though it will cost you your illusions<br>And require of you a humility<br>That you once banished.<br>A turning is called for,<br>But it is entirely <br>Your <br>Choice.</p><p><strong>Reflection</strong><br>1. In your life what is the guardian agains evil, falsehood, violence, and injustice? Is it effective, or is it failing?<br>2. How would you know if you were on the wrong side of that conflict, and what would you do, if you realized that you were?<br>3. What illusions do you need to abandon? What humility do you need to return to, and what do you need to turn from or toward?</p>Jim Webertag:jimweber.com,2005:Post/72217002023-06-05T18:15:19-05:002023-06-05T18:16:18-05:00The Thinking Poet - Napoleon<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/204256/663c1349d27cac239c9acdf734c7dec411c768aa/original/dd-painting-photo-banner-crop-1100x220pixels.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p><strong>Napoleon</strong></p><p>Napoleon crossed the Nieper<br>And claimed innocence.<br>He took city after Russian city,<br>Protesting that Alexander started it all.<br>His gargantuan need to be right,<br>To be unanswered, unopposed,<br>Placed his picture in the hall of shame<br>Where dictators, despots, and petty bullies<br>Strut their short, fat egos,<br>Too deluded to fathom the great contempt <br>They have earned in the tomes of history,<br>Still believing the fundamental lie<br>They told the world and themselves,<br>That they are great and must be so<br>In order to be of any human worth whatsoever.<br>He reappears from time to time<br>Throughout the pages of humanity<br>To remind us all of the virus inside<br>Which, given too much power,<br>Like water germinating an evil seed,<br>Can turn any one of us<br>Into a monstrous, murderous wretch.<br>We, the armies of Russia, must drive him back <br>Again and again, vigilant and humble,<br>For the battle on the western steppe <br>Also rages inside us.</p><p><strong>Reflection</strong><br>1. What do you have to do to prove your worth? How does that urge affect others?<br>2. Like Napoleon, what urge to power lurks inside you, and what does it take to bring it to life? <br>3. How do you fight against that “evil seed”? What causes you to win or lose that fight?</p>Jim Webertag:jimweber.com,2005:Post/72173242023-05-29T09:57:43-05:002023-05-29T09:57:43-05:00The Thinking Poet - Amoebas<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/204256/663c1349d27cac239c9acdf734c7dec411c768aa/original/dd-painting-photo-banner-crop-1100x220pixels.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><p><strong>Amoebas</strong></p><p>I am weary of the locker room talk<br>About our team, exceptional, exclusive,<br>The tight knit tribe of fortunates,<br>Blessed be us, chosen by us<br>To be the chosen by us,<br>Assumed by us to be well and good,<br>Fellows of the club,<br>Set apart from the others<br>Who by every detail of their outsiderness<br>Have declared themselves worthy<br>Of the deprivation they must certainly know<br>Because they are not endowed with the special knowledge,<br>The special experience, the unique defining beliefs<br>That prove they are not us,<br>And we, the called, the exceptional,<br>Are, from the beginning and to the end,<br>Simply the better, the deserving, the endowed.<br>I am weary of the confines of this<br>Tiny, tiny box in which amoebas<br>Congratulate themselves above all creation.</p><p><strong>Reflection</strong><br>1. What exclusive group(s) are you a part of, and how do your groups keep others out?</p><p>2. What are the benefits for you of being part of an exclusive group? </p><p>3. Who are the outsiders to your group? What would happen, if you included some outsiders? </p>Jim Webertag:jimweber.com,2005:Post/72150612023-05-24T20:08:32-05:002023-05-24T20:12:52-05:00The Thinking Poet - End Of This Round<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/204256/663c1349d27cac239c9acdf734c7dec411c768aa/original/dd-painting-photo-banner-crop-1100x220pixels.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><strong>End Of This Round</strong></p><p>We were making the normal plans,<br>Doing the normal things<br>Until a tornado tore through,<br>Companioned by DeRecho,<br>His destructive, straight-line little brother,<br>Only a foreshadowing of the<br>Millions of illnesses,<br>Hundreds of thousands of deaths,<br>Fools who will believe any lie,<br>Liars who will say anything to fools,<br>Believers bound to self at others' expense,<br>Murderers masquerading as public servants,<br>Righteous protests co-opted into violence,<br>Excusing the cavalier callousness of the unconcerned,<br>Torn muscles slowly recovering -- I think,<br>Hearing again, and again, and again<br>That you are an abuser, nothing more,<br>Students gasping for the air of learning<br>And small businesses asphyxiating<br>In the oxygen-starved virtual desert,<br>An election compromised by proofless claims<br>From the Sycophant Party who would <br>Run the whole damned ship aground,<br>Rather than legally yield the helm,<br>A dark religion built around the American father of lies,<br>An ailing father-in-law falling toward, but not quite reaching his end,<br>His daughter's teeth torn away for her own good,<br>And finally, just when you thought<br>It was safe to stay home for Christmas,<br>One more crazy, narcissistic bastard<br>Burns down other peoples' dreams<br>For his own twisted glory.<br>But in the smoking hellscape <br>There were people pulling together,<br>Cutting trees from houses,<br>Heroic warriors in scrubs,<br>Compassionate mask-wearers,<br>Staying home to protect the vulnerable,<br>Praying saints gathering at a safe distance,<br>A loan, turned grant to pull us through,<br>An old friendship revived,<br>A muse awakened, speaking out<br>Through wooden bowls, audienceless songs, <br>Thanksgiving recordings for Christmas family,<br>Living loved ones, untouchable, but safe,<br>An old man's repentant review of his own life,<br>Promises of hope from a new needle,<br>A new set of teeth,<br>A new pair of hiking shoes,<br>A family and friends still loving <br>Through screens and ear buds,<br>A Savior still in the manger,<br>Graduations, new jobs, new ideas, <br>And new worlds to imagine<br>As the spin of seasons<br>Passes Go, collects $200,<br>And rolls once again in The Game of Life.</p><p><strong>Reflection</strong><br>1. How do you review your life at the end of each year? What would it take to do that?<br>2. When a year is difficult for you, do you reflect on it anyway and try to learn, or do you try to get away from it because it is too painful? What results, positive or negative, come from that?<br>3. After reflecting on the previous year, what hopes do you have for the coming year, and what can you do to bring them to life?</p>Jim Webertag:jimweber.com,2005:Post/72085802023-05-13T18:33:06-05:002023-05-13T18:33:06-05:00The Thinking Poet - Dust To Dust<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/204256/663c1349d27cac239c9acdf734c7dec411c768aa/original/dd-painting-photo-banner-crop-1100x220pixels.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><p><strong>Dust To Dust</strong></p><p>I like to have a little sawdust on me <br>To remind me who I am,<br>Since I came from dust long ago,<br>Further back than my cells can remember,<br>Back before they could tell the difference <br>Between their own kind <br>And the other kind <br>And the Other <br>That they may or may not have perceived,<br>When trees were shelter and shade, <br>Clothing and food, <br>Warmth and seasoning, <br>Weaponry and tools,<br>Long before they bowed before us <br>As product to developer <br>Or nuisance to improver-of-lands, <br>Lands that were as perfect <br>As one can imagine <br>Before the vain attempt.<br>I mingle my own dust <br>With the dust of trees <br>In the hope that I might join our lives<br>And make something, <br>A marriage of species<br>That bears a wooden child <br>With a soul like mine.</p><p><br><strong>Reflection</strong><br>1.Do you feel a sense of estrangement between yourself and the natural world? If so, what causes that? If not, how have you escaped it?<br>2.Do you feel connected or separate from your ancestors who lived off the land? <br>3.If you create art or craft, how do you put your soul into the inanimate object of your art?</p>Jim Webertag:jimweber.com,2005:Post/72048902023-05-08T08:17:47-05:002023-05-08T08:17:47-05:00The Thinking Poet - By The Condo<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/204256/663c1349d27cac239c9acdf734c7dec411c768aa/original/dd-painting-photo-banner-crop-1100x220pixels.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><p><strong>By The Condo</strong></p><p>I drove by the condo <br>Where we lived when you were born.<br>The trees we planted in the back<br>Are still there, unrecognizably tall.<br>But you aren't there.<br>The west wind still whispers<br>Its lullaby in the eves,<br>Just as it did when I was<br>Singing you to sleep.<br>But you aren't there.<br>The train came by,<br>The one I would scoop you up<br>In my arms and run to watch<br>As it squealed through the crossing.<br>But you aren't there.<br>The park across the street still beckons,<br>Bare branches reaching <br>Through the December chill<br>With the enticement<br>Of swings and trails.<br>But you aren't there.<br>Fathers long for their boys<br>Like a part of their own bodies<br>Has been taken away,<br>A wound that draws together,<br>But never truly heals.<br>I drive away from the sweet pain of memory<br>And I find myself saying that,<br>If you were really gone,<br>I would be wrecked.</p><p><strong>Reflection</strong><br>1. Who do you feel this way about? How would you describe your feelings? Do they know you feel that way?<br>2. Have you had the experience of going to a place you used to live, only to find that the life you had there is gone? Describe your experience.<br>3. What wound do you have that “draws together/But never heals”? What would bring healing?</p>Jim Webertag:jimweber.com,2005:Post/71954952023-04-23T12:33:24-05:002023-04-23T12:33:25-05:00The Thinking Poet - Still A Tightness<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/204256/663c1349d27cac239c9acdf734c7dec411c768aa/original/dd-painting-photo-banner-crop-1100x220pixels.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><p><strong>Still A Tightness</strong></p><p>Tightness still grips my abdomen<br>Just below my diaphragm,<br>A knot that has been gradually loosening<br>Over the past half hour, since we spoke last.<br>I have heard your footsteps several times<br>And felt the tension increase each time,<br>Not to the point of pain or nausea,<br>But to a rigidity that is ready,<br>Ready for something dangerous,<br>Something I have endured before<br>And would rather not endure again.<br>I will be okay, I tell myself,<br>But I am not yet OK,<br>Still thinking rapid thoughts<br>In the panic of readiness,<br>Still trying to figure out what has happened<br>And what will happen.<br>I will be OK, I tell myself,<br>Because there is no one else to tell,<br>But I am not OK yet.<br>I breathe in, <br>As if I haven't breathed in too long,<br>And I probably haven't.<br>The tension is softening into sadness,<br>And I hear the rain, also soft,<br>Falling on the ground outside.</p><p><strong>Reflection</strong><br>1. Does this remind you of any experience of your own?<br>2. Describe a conflict with someone and the feelings it generated in you.<br>3. Is there a point when the tension softens into sadness? What do you do then?</p>Jim Webertag:jimweber.com,2005:Post/71913042023-04-16T11:24:05-05:002023-04-16T11:24:05-05:00The Thinking Poet - No Urgency<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/204256/663c1349d27cac239c9acdf734c7dec411c768aa/original/dd-painting-photo-banner-crop-1100x220pixels.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><p><strong>No Urgency</strong></p><p>There is no urgency now.<br>Afternoon has dimmed into evening,<br>Branches fading into the gray cloud backdrop.<br>Lights come on as I sit in the dark,<br>Glancing lazily out the window,<br>From time to time wondering,<br>Isn't there something I must do?<br>Only to answer, No. <br>Nothing is required.<br>A rest, a nap, a game, a thought,<br>Another glance out at the undemanding night<br>As it falls into sleep.</p><p><strong>Reflection</strong><br>1. When and how often do you feel the lack of urgency?<br>2. In those moments when you are not required to do anything, what do you do?<br>3. Is the lack of urgency restorative, peaceful, empty, frightening, or some other thing to you? </p>Jim Webertag:jimweber.com,2005:Post/71873142023-04-10T18:32:15-05:002023-04-10T19:13:12-05:00The Thinking Poet - This Orange<p><strong><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/204256/663c1349d27cac239c9acdf734c7dec411c768aa/original/dd-painting-photo-banner-crop-1100x220pixels.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></strong></p><p><strong>This Orange</strong></p><p>This orange, a gift from friends,<br>Breaks into discrete pieces,<br>Each essentially the same, <br>In sweetness, not too sweet, this one,<br>In tartness, I prefer a smidge more, thank you,<br>In juiciness, enough to drip all over,<br>In tenderness, fragile, but not disintegrating.<br>I wonder whether the pieces think,<br>(A silly thought. <br>Who believes orange slices think?<br>But then, the word silly used to mean<br>"having been tricked by elves,"<br>So perhaps oranges do have thoughts,<br>And we have been tricked to think otherwise.)<br>That they are different from each other?<br>If I examine them closely,<br>They are not exactly the same.<br>Look, this one has a seed.<br>Does that make it the boss section,<br>Or the worker section,<br>The high society slice,<br>Or the stupid, lazy, low class, criminal,<br>Better not move in next to me section?<br>This is where I should be drawing <br>A brilliantly crafted moral point,<br>But I have eaten the whole orange,<br>Except for that seed.</p><p><strong>Reflection</strong><br>1.When was the last time you observed the details of a common object? What did you notice or learn?<br>2.Pick an object and imagine what the world would look like through its eyes, if it had a point of view.<br>3.What would the details say about it, if it were a person?</p>Jim Webertag:jimweber.com,2005:Post/71828762023-04-02T16:39:57-05:002023-04-02T16:44:57-05:00The Thinking Poet - Silence<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/204256/663c1349d27cac239c9acdf734c7dec411c768aa/original/dd-painting-photo-banner-crop-1100x220pixels.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><p><strong>Silence</strong></p><p>Silence is its own song.<br>Never full-throated,<br>It peppers its melody with subtle interruptions,<br>A car going by, a creak in the house,<br>The howl of a distant train.<br>Even when it sings by itself, <br>Which it almost never does,<br>My ears cannot quite believe it,<br>Adding their own faint, <br>high voiced harmony,<br>As if to say, <br>Nothing cannot speak for herself.<br>Yet she does it so beautifully.</p><p><strong>Reflection</strong><br>1.Do you like or dislike silence? What about it do you like or dislike?<br>2.When have you listened to silence or the “subtle interruptions” with which silence “peppers its melody”?<br>3.What happens when you do that?</p>Jim Webertag:jimweber.com,2005:Post/71787462023-03-26T12:28:41-05:002023-03-26T12:28:41-05:00The Thinking Poet - On The Highway<p> </p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/204256/663c1349d27cac239c9acdf734c7dec411c768aa/original/dd-painting-photo-banner-crop-1100x220pixels.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><p><strong>On The Highway</strong></p><p>On the highway outside my window<br>Trucks crash their hollow shells,<br>Drums of commerce, <br>Beating a cadence I could never follow.<br>Cars swish by, ride cymbals<br>Counting in slow 12/13 time,<br>Awaiting the entrance of the soloist,<br>The testosterone-stoned saxophone<br>Of a motorcyclist<br>As he plunges headlong into the night<br>Which he will never outrun,<br>The silent dark that overtakes us all.</p><p><strong>Reflection</strong><br>1.Do you ever listen to the sounds around you? Of what do they remind you? What does that tell you about yourself?<br>2.What do you do to outrun death, or if not death, fear? Does it work?</p>Jim Webertag:jimweber.com,2005:Post/71741762023-03-18T11:31:58-05:002023-03-18T16:31:09-05:00The Thinking Poet - The Moon Has Risen<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/204256/663c1349d27cac239c9acdf734c7dec411c768aa/original/dd-painting-photo-banner-crop-1100x220pixels.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><p> </p><p><span><strong>The Moon Has Risen</strong></span></p><p><span>The moon has risen above my window top,</span></p><p><span>Though it was shining in two hours ago</span></p><p><span>As you and I spoke from a telephone distance,</span></p><p><span>Locked away from one another for our own good,</span></p><p><span>And for the good of others in this masked age.</span></p><p><span>We tell the trivial, the true language of love over time,</span></p><p><span>Talking about nothings that fill the blanks between us.</span></p><p><span>I can't remember a thing we said,</span></p><p><span>Now that the moon has taken her perch above the hackberry tree,</span></p><p><span>Though it was as important as anything ever said by anyone</span></p><p><span>Because the saying of it said, by implication,</span></p><p><span>That even as the machinery of earth and moon and time creep on,</span></p><p><span>You and I are connected -- in time and beyond time.</span></p><p><span> </span></p><p><span><strong>Reflection</strong></span></p><p><span>1. To whom can you converse about nothing?</span></p><p><span>2. How do you bridge the gaps between you and others?</span></p><p><span>3. What assures you that you are connected with someone?</span></p>Jim Webertag:jimweber.com,2005:Post/71696992023-03-11T18:41:49-06:002023-03-11T18:41:50-06:00The Thinking Poet - Bird Worship<img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/204256/663c1349d27cac239c9acdf734c7dec411c768aa/original/dd-painting-photo-banner-crop-1100x220pixels.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /><p> </p><p><span><strong>Bird Worship</strong></span></p><p><span>Peeper came to my window this morning,</span></p><p><span>Squeaking as he pecked corn and sunflower seeds,</span></p><p><span>Black mask and scarlet crown dipping in homage</span></p><p><span>To his sometime provider.</span></p><p><span>I don't pour the styrofoam cup of seed every morning,</span></p><p><span>Only on those days when I want to watch him up close,</span></p><p><span>Like a Greek deity, capricious in my attentions.</span></p><p><span>He knows not to trust me overmuch,</span></p><p><span>Just as the Greeks must have known</span></p><p><span>To stay away from gods who were no better than themselves,</span></p><p><span>Honoring them with statues and temples,</span></p><p><span>But avoiding "personal relationship with Jesus" type devotion</span></p><p><span>As an invitation to trouble.</span></p><p><span>And just so, after a peck and a peep,</span></p><p><span>The Cardinal sees me move through morning window glass</span></p><p><span>And flits away to safety.</span></p><p><span> </span></p><p><span><strong>Reflection</strong></span></p><p><span>1. What is your relationship to the creatures around you?</span></p><p><span>2. Would you prefer more or less interaction?</span></p><p><span>3. How do you imagine that they characterize you?</span></p><p> </p>Jim Webertag:jimweber.com,2005:Post/71652472023-03-04T14:59:17-06:002023-03-05T16:22:08-06:00The Thinking Poet - Winters<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/s:bzglfiles/u/204256/663c1349d27cac239c9acdf734c7dec411c768aa/original/dd-painting-photo-banner-crop-1100x220pixels.png/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p><p> </p><p>The Thinking Poet blog includes a poem along with a few though-provoking questions. You can use it to ponder, journal, discuss, and/or comment in response. And if you want to, you can purchase Jim's book, <a class="no-pjax" href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0BNY58T2D" data-link-type="url"><i>Solstice To Solstice - A Memoir In Verse</i>. </a></p><p> </p><p><strong>Winters </strong></p><p>Winter, according to the calendar, </p><p>Begins at the solstice, </p><p>When days are short, </p><p>And nights long, </p><p>But anyone who has left the house </p><p>With too light a wrap </p><p>Knows otherwise. </p><p>I walk bravely today, </p><p>Facing a cold, wet wind, </p><p>Hands stuffed into pockets, </p><p>Hood pulled down </p><p>Over my forehead, </p><p>And I feel winter's cold fingers </p><p>Along my neck and shoulders and thighs. </p><p>No sleigh-ride jingle </p><p>Cures this kind of winter. </p><p>It carries no festival lights </p><p>Or yule log warmth. </p><p>This is the season that gets in </p><p>Under your coat to remind you </p><p>That her sister, death, </p><p>Is coming for you sooner than you think </p><p>With icicle talons to hold you under </p><p>Until the summer that thaws all things. </p><p> </p><p><strong>Reflection </strong></p><ol>
<li>What reminds you of your mortality? What feelings come with that? </li>
<li>What would you leave undone, if death came today? </li>
<li>In your worldview, is there a “summer that thaws all things”? How does that affect your thoughts and feelings about your life? </li>
</ol><p> </p><p>"Winters" is reprinted from Jim Weber's <i>Solstice To Solstice - A Memoir In Verse</i>.</p>Jim Webertag:jimweber.com,2005:Post/71231642022-12-14T20:13:48-06:002023-03-04T14:58:39-06:00What's A Solstice?<p><img src="//d10j3mvrs1suex.cloudfront.net/u/204256/e6d4a77016795fa2fb597f627a3e7b444357e4c9/original/solstice-to-solstice-cover-square-2.jpg/!!/meta:eyJzcmNCdWNrZXQiOiJiemdsZmlsZXMifQ==/b:W10=.jpg" class="size_l justify_center border_" /></p>
<p>A solstice is when either the day or night is at its longest.</p>
<p>For me personally that happens on those nights when I can't sleep because my brain hasn't gotten the message to shut up already. This happens about four times a year. It also happens on those days when I'm passing a kidney stone and it hurts like crazy for a long, long time. That has only happened three times in my whole life, for which I am grateful, though zero would have been better.</p>
<p>But for the whole planet together, the solstice only happens twice a year, once in December when the night is as long as night can get and once in June when the day gets as long as day can get. Its like they have an ongoing ping pong match, tied at 21, and they keep changing serve and winning their point over and over and over. </p>
<p>Solstice appears twice on the cover of my new book, separated, not by six months or a ping pong net, but by the word "to." "Solstice To Solstice" then, means from one solstice to the other, which is the period during which the book was written.</p>
<p>It might be helpful to mention that the subtitle of the book is, "A Memoir In Verse." If you didn't know a memoir from a solstice or a ping pong net, a memoir is a set of memories or thoughts of one's life written down, and "in verse" indicates that they are written in poetic form. So, the book contains poems about thoughts about life between two solstices, all written poetic form. </p>
<p>If you are not familiar with poems, they are very similar to prose (what you are reading right now), except they are written differently on the page.</p>
<p>For example,</p>
<p>This sentence</p>
<p>Is written</p>
<p>Like a poem,</p>
<p>Though it</p>
<p>Is not one.</p>
<p>Dramatic, huh?</p>
<p>Of course there are many other things that distinguish poetry from prose, and I learned them in grade school or college or somewhere else long, long ago, about the same time I learned to play ping pong.</p>
<p>But I don't know if you learned them in grade school, or anything at all for that matter, even ping pong, and not being a grade school or college teacher, I don't intent to give a course in the many differences between poetry and prose except to suggest that you could learn a lot more about the convergence of solstices, memoirs, and poetry by buying and reading my book, "Solstice To Solstice - A Memoir In Verse."</p>
<p><a contents="Buy it here." data-link-label="" data-link-type="url" href="https://read.amazon.com/kp/embed?asin=B0BNYCFTKW&preview=newtab&linkCode=kpe&ref_=cm_sw_r_kb_dp_YV9MZBMXA49ZPKXDBC9Z" target="_blank">Buy it here.</a> </p>
<p>There is nothing in there about ping pong. Sorry.</p>Jim Weber