Great artwork, Nessa! Isaac, I think she might need a bit of education about “da tween of da woild”, because it doesn’t seem to resemble Suze very much!

I really like the little snail beside the zebra!
Jesse, I enjoyed your poem and was reminded of two that I wrote in college. I dug them out to honor the poetic turn the blog has taken recently (not that I think the quality of my poems particularly honors anything…)
Your admiration and sense of kinship with the fall, and seasons, and dying, rotting, waiting, and finding life in death is what reminded me of this poem (written on thanksgiving about 8 or 9 years ago)
Thanksgiving
For someone’s boat
unused at the dock
for twisted trees
devoid of leaves
for rotted timbers
damp and decaying
for green growing on gutters
for moss on rocks
for empty wooden chairs
and barren table
for too-cold water
and chilly breath of wind
for the symphony of chimes
and that lone dog
gazing with me from the porch
at the cool, pensive sunset
for the dark fluffy gray
hiding the retreating blue
and the hesitant pink
for dry-drooping potted plants
for the growing darkness
for silhouettes
I can remember where I was and what I was thinking, but I can see why that was shoved in a folder and forgotten, rather than published and circulated!
The other poem I thought of, I was reminded of by your wishing to be a tree. I had a friend/mentor in college who was in his sixties or seventies, and was a steadfast, rooted, heart-center of his church and Christian school community. I wrote this about him:
This tree has lived epochs
of lives torn by uncivil civil wars
solid and strong, firm in gales
tender and pliant, cradling nestlings
an oaken willow.
This tree has scars
malicious ax-wounds
subtle, gradual saw marks
a lightning-seared limb
bare patches, torn away at youth,
exposed
and sometimes sap down-drops in drips
Its roots reach deep, to she source
spread miles wide, gnarled fingers
a part inseparable from
the saplings and bushes and older trees
and weeds
connecting,
touching.
Some leaves fallen,
some turning
its visage wind-weathered
lined and grooved
dry, yet vibrant
Wizened.
He never responded when I gave him the poem, so I’m not sure what that says about the quality of my writing here, either!
I have lots of other thoughts about the swarm that was disturbed when I poked at Jesse, but I’ll get to work for now, and save those for another ramble. I did want to just make one clarification, though, to respond to Elizabeth:
I agree with your statement about the Bible being more than practical advice and moral guidelines, and I would never argue that. I hesitated to use the word “simply” because of it has the other connotations that you mentioned, “just” and “merely”. I was hoping that my careful use of “simply” wouldn’t carry those connotations, but would rather get across my intent, which would’ve been better put, “sometimes practical wisdom is (straightforwardly, uncomplicatedly, barefaced) practical wisdom.” When I asked, “can a proverb be just a proverb” I didn’t mean that to be slighting in value in any way, but was trying to use it in the same sense I just described, meaning “solely” rather than “merely.” I was also parroting Freud in my syntax and word choice, since I had used the line attributed to him.
Ok, now I really have to work, and leave space here for others.
L and L, see you Monday!
Blessings to all, and a warm e-hug to Harrisburg especially!
~Joel

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