Dimensions of Hope in Modern Life

Modern life is incredibly complex and it has been made more so by the vast availability of instantaneous information on any unsavory deed committed anywhere on earth. This can prove exquisitely stressful and adds to the perception of many that the world is a dangerous place. This has certainly been my own experience.

There may well be fundamental change going on in the world. Some of the results are indeed discomforting. Others quite inspiring. If we are simply able to acknowledge our discomfort with this massive change, perhaps it will be a bit less disquieting. Alone, one might be inclined to doubt his ability to cope.

"Skyscrapers" recounts my reactions to the glass and marble canyons of a northern city. These towers of offices often provide habitation for people working stressful jobs they really don't enjoy. Even in this crystalline metallic landscape one can wonder if a bit of renewal came be obtained from nature, if the windows open.

The tragedy of the Oklahoma City bombings cannot be overstated. This senseless atrocity made the world feel much less safe to me. "The Fed" and "Who Was I?" focus on the reality that the federal government is not a monolithic machine; rather an amalgamation of people with dreams, hopes, and challenges just like those of us that don't work for government.

A few days after the bombings an arsonist burned down several blocks of my town. I saw a towering column of orange hatred spiraling up into the night sky. "Arsoned Dreams" describes the burning of dreams for the gain of insurance fraud. At the same time rose bushes grow rather well in ash.

Current phone technology makes it possible to carry on myriad conversations at once. We can gets calls from cellular phones, digital machines, fax machines, modems, all while in our car even. In "Houseguest" I recall being a guest in the home of a friend at the time of Susie's death and having no conversation with her. In the morning I found her on the phone with two calls lasting forty minutes. Piles of complex text books buried her dining room table. I never did get to speak with her and left through the basement without benefit of breakfast.

"Busyness" continues the same theme. Several rather important friendships I have had with others were lost in their pursuit of busy schedules. Some I have not even had a Christmas card from in years, yet I once was told by several I was the most influential person in their lives.

Contemporary society does have some fine offerings. Most states now operate rather excellent park systems. A Sunday afternoon outing in Jone Gap State Park in South Carolina inspired "Sunday." A tranquil happy collection of families indulged in BBQs and recreation, forgetting the rigors of weekdays.

The film "Beyond Rangoon" enkindled "Student." This compelling film depicted the Burmese student pro-democracy movement in the late 1980s and early 1990s. A compelling episode shows that love can overcome the severest of hate and prejudice. This is perhaps one of the most hopeful things in the human experience to chronicle.

The anguish and lament for the Denaric city of Serajevo continue. One night I awoke at 2 AM with tears and "Besieged" came forth. I have often found the tragedy of this Alpine paradise to be most haunting, on a par with the explosion of the space shuttle Challenger. If we can weep with each other, perhaps we can move beyond war.

Much debates has been generated about the role of TV in the declension of modern American culture; its role in inciting criminal behavior, in eroding the enthusiasm for learning. "TV" is my reaction to what television has done to erode my friendships with others who are addicted to it. On a fine clear day I found the highways deserted and was most curious about this until it occurred to me it was Superbowl Sunday.

One night I was in the local mall returning a CD and found the place rather crowded and filled with nervous energy. Myriad teenagers loitered with no where to go. Going outside, I basked in the radiance of a rather fine harvest moon. "Luminous" presents a way of life that transcends a culture of consumption and idleness.

Life in the fast lane often results in important people being left behind. Wives, sons, daughters often get left behind by a high flyer who is bent on career ascent, accumulation, and thrill. If he is lucky he will see a higher way of life mapped out for him before he crash lands. "High Flyer" shows a way to avoid a hard landing.

Technology has made it possible to automate many tasks once performed by people. While in a gas station I realized it was possible to pay for the gas by putting a plastic debit card in the pump and having no interaction with any people whatever. The last time I bought postage a metallic clerk made the transaction for me. The last time I called directory assistance, I interfaced with voice recognition technology. "Where Are You?" is my bewilderment at what happened to the milkmen, elevator operators, gas attendants, those people who made life much more human and personal.


Skyscrapers

Towers of steel and glass thrust skyward,
piercing the empyrean canopy with iron.

Ferrous talons rooted deep in earth,
crystalline predators snare our Calling.

Faceted skins of glass scales glistening,
they capture astral warmth of newborn day.

Cold-blooded interiors come to life,
satiated by myriad supplicants of success.

Creation making arboreal sacrifice,
myriad memoranda fill fluorescent voids.

Circadian ritual brings pious pilgrims,
seeking places before altars of prosperity.

Priests of commerce, habitating high places,
promise deliverance from a life of mediocrity.

Iridescent exteriors, reflecting life,
create illusions of what can't be.

Do the windows open?


The Fed

The spring freshness of the eastern plains,
giving the weary respite after winter, fills all with joy.

Gentle morning sun washes away the last of morning mist,
its benevolence warming the metropolitan heart.

Easter lily blooms retain their splendor,
filling my labyrinth with fragrant reflection.

Children's voices fill the air with exuberant chatter,
their lunch boxes harboring Easter's multi-hued treasures.

Fate's victims, no longer able to stand alone,
trodden down by the winter of life, journey here.

Still believing in the goodness of humankind,
abandoned mothers come, to find hope.

A seismic intrusion of unbounded hate erupts,
fracturing hope, igniting anguish.

I died for you.


Who Was I?

You lashed out in the blindness of rage,
your hatred driving you to mindless folly.

Who was I that I merited the searing heat of your scorn,
to be blasted beyond the stars by your wrath?

I was an idealistic veterinarian instructing others,
that they might teach you to care for your
animals.

I was your neighbor who processed mountains of paper,
so your paralyzed husband could face
mountainous challenges.

I was a new twenty-two year old school teacher,
each day teaching your children
laughter and wonder.

I was a graduate of the seventh-grade, a janitor,
giving you a clean place to carry
on with your life.

I was a new mother, radiant with joy,
coming to get a social security card for my baby.

I was a new life, just past my first birthday,
filled with dreams, hopes, gleeful expectations.

Who are you?


Arsoned Dreams

Acrid columns of combustion consume darkness,
giving way to torrid firestorms of uncertainty.

Quiet lethargy of sultry southern nights
transforms to morbid celebration of ruin.

Solitary supplication before Hollywood's flickering altars
yields to the shared communion of conflagration.

Oaken dreams feed the multitude's craving,
their lust fueled by the fires of future despair.

Mortared visions of yesteryear's builders,
collapse into incandescent remnants of antiquity.

Incinerated relics smolder for days,
a burnt offering to wanton greed.

Cremated aspirations for a better way
fertilize tomorrow's hopelessness.

With your rapacious inflaming act,
my family's security wafts into blackness.

Deluges of forgiveness douse inner infernos,
giving way to our shared healing of loss.

Roses grow abundantly in ash.


Houseguest

You and I come together to share sorrow,
for the early parting of a friend.
I anticipate the succor of your words.

Your house is opened to me by your son,
he shows me into your world.
You are on the phone, another call is holding.

I look forward to sharing in memories,
of your children's journeys to adulthood.

Academic expectations have left their marks;
Children's art has been pushed aside,
in favor of texts of eschatology and hermeneutics.

I anticipate thoughtful reflection, your attention;
shared commiseration for our shared loss.
You have errands to do, ministry to accomplish.

I anticipate breaking morning bread, sharing a new day,
a difficult day when we will lay to rest our loss.
You are on the phone.

You are on the phone.
You are on the phone.
You are on the phone.

I leave through the basement, unfed.


Busyness

Content in my own way of life,
your possibilities showed me more.

Entranced I was by overtures of friendship,
anticipating our grand shared adventures.

Your ebullient words pledged rewards,
making vulnerability worth many risks.

For one travelling solo in life,
your effervescence promised relief.

As so often happens in frantic busyness,
your attentions were drawn elsewhere.

Hoping it was you ringing my phone,
it was yet another wanting a donation.

I sought you out for communal adventures,
you asked if you could put me on hold.

The sands in the glass are far gone,
our friendship interred beneath.

Drop me a line sometime.


Sunday

Stifling suits and power ties discarded,
politically correct linen dresses abandoned,
we pillage our closets for the good stuff.

With myriad treks engraved in their treads,
memories of high places in their uppers,
we don old Adidas, saved for special occasions.

Favorite T-shirts, emblazoned with medallions,
well faded during past pleasures,
cloak us in expectation of new adventure.

Scampering toddlers squealing in delight,
bounding from rock to rock to rock,
pause breathless in their frolics.

Wandering among the denizens of the sky,
lofty imaginations giving flight to dreams,
we contemplate the bounty of life's riches.

Effervescent mountain streams,
carrying Heaven's manna earthward,
refresh the sheltering arboreal canopy.

Smoky blue-gray tendrils rising,
aromatic enticements beckon us,
promising delectate feasts fit for kings.

Dad, is it time to eat?


Student

In ignorant wisdom, power mongers
cast you out, fearing omnipotence of ideas.

Once contemplating books to learn,
today you peruse terrors of the heart.

In totalitarian fear you lurk in shadows,
nurturing seeds of our future freedom.

In the farthest reaches of sacred hope
live dreams of life beyond repression.

Giving the supreme gift of life,
Your blood fertilizes the earth.

In a distant spring a shoot sprouts,
giving bloom to equity for all people.

Oppression sublimating to compassion,
mortal enemies embrace in hot tears.

You have taught the teacher.


Besieged

With grand anticipation the nations gathered,
myriad hopes crystallizing world community.

We came to you with our Olympian dreams,
seeking to stand tall; contestants in life.

You rose from restful winter slumber,
giving possibility to golden fantasy.

Hand in hand, we walked beneath nocturnal diamonds,
nurturing secret expectations of tomorrow's accolades.

Your hospitality mesmerized the world,
your generosity captivating athletic pilgrims.

You taught us man could rise above himself,
setting aside swords for wreaths of olive.

A decade of numbing winters has passed,
your beauty hidden only in misty-eyed memory.

Aureate fantasy has given way to ferrous reality,
your heart lacerated by iron implements of death.

Olympian hopes have tumbled down your slopes,
landings in the smoldering ashes of your children.

Again, you tremble and cower, oblivious to spring,
your arboreal delights burned to fuel frigid fear.

In the cinders of your Dinaric forests and arenas,
may we find a sprout of new possibility for you, and us.

Serajevo, we weep with you.


TV

Reaching out to a dear soulmate,
far distant, we forge fond friendship.

You, chattering loudly in his world,
drown out communal contemplation of shared journeys.

Delighting in seeing my distant wanderer,
shared secrets soon traverse the miles.

Your entrepreneurial babble deflating my joy,
his attention is drawn to your vain imaginations.

I wonder at the desertion of the streets,
it is a glorious evening, fit for royalty.

Alas, it is Superbowl Sunday;
prismatic flickers shimmering across America.

Where's the remote?


Luminous

Solar radiance has faded to cobalt blue,
star-studded splendor punctuating heaven.

Shimmering evening air cools thermal challenges of day,
we luxuriate in twilight refreshment.

Nocturnal displays fade into sodium haze,
electric suns conceal stellar wonders,
millions of years journeying for our pleasure.

Evening coolness is lost to the masses,
corralled in frenetic interiors of acquisition,
bent on harvesting all terra firma has given.

Heaven is forgotten, earth remembered no more,
we are caught in the heat of purchase.

re-millennial urban wanderers travel in circles,
pounding themselves senseless with infrasonic throbs,
easing the empty pain of the electric night.

You, luminous reminder of other realms,
gleaming orb rising in grandeur,
transform your aureate being to sterling.

Wispy filaments give enchantment to your countenance;
lifting us to High places with angels,
imparting to us the glories of Numinous mystery.


You tell me of One who says:
Call unto me, and I will answer thee,
and shew you great and mighty things,
which you knowest not.


High Flyer

Your crystalline dreams of shared journeys
shattered against my fortress of neglect;
Incandescent heat from my meteoric rise
leaving a contrail of your immolated visions.

Leaving you in the cool valley,
I soared into the stratosphere of success.
The stellar diamond greeting the dawn horizon.
I basked in the wonderment of accomplishment.

Jealous missiles of resentment and envy
forcing me to high-altitude isolation;
Rarified cosmic silence is shattering,
there are none here to share entrancement.

Solar flares ignite, blistering my wings;
the cool safety of troposphere far below.
Thermal blasts of materialism and power
burn uncertainty and fear into my soul.

Incendiary heat of re-entry sears my spirit,
the Foundations of simplicity beyond view.
Terra firma launches itself up at me,
deceiving me with breathless freefall.

Falling violently into edges of night,
His constellations map a better way.
In the nocturnal stillness,
a still small Voice promises a safe landing.

Permission to land?


Where Are You?

You used to ask
"Need the oil checked?"
"Want the windows washed?"
The pump flashes "Insert payment card here."

Where are you?

You used to leave a box of chocolate cherries,
along with the Christmas cards.
I don't know now if my postman is a man.

Where are you?

You used to steal into my house at night,
leaving gleaming glass bottles of ...
white milk, chocolate milk, orange juice.
Now I pass a five under bullet proof glass
for a throw-away jug from a dairy I never heard of.

Where are you?

You used to cheer me as I made the dreaded journey,
up eight floors to the doctor's office.
Now I push the buttons myself,
seeking comfort in the lights over the door.

Where are you?

You used to give me lollipops, hold me on your lap,
easing those dreadful times of vaccination.
I don't even know who my doc is now.
I'm not sure the HMO does either.

Where are you?

Here am I.