Regel

Austere: 1. severely simple; "a stark interior" 2.of a stern or strict bearing or demeanor; forbidding in aspect; "an austere expression"; "a stern face"

Maybe a short read will give you a new perspective. The idea of Jesus having brothers has been discussed and alluded to in many passages of the bible. Curious is it not?

I had just spent four hours visiting my my mother-in-law who was back in hospital and did my best to distract and keep the spirits up of both my wife's parents. I did my best to chat them up and keep the mood light. I said my good byes and informed them my wife would be down for the weekend. My father-in-law was beside himself and as he walked me out he said to me in a whisper "It's really bad this time Joe, really bad." I stopped shook his hand and told him "Do not dispair, we still have her." It was all the encouragement I could muster. I took the elevator down from the fourth floor and started thinking about how I have been. I've been dropping F-bombs lately like leaves falling in autumn. Frustration perhaps or maybe fatigue but it has been creeping into my comments and of late my temper is decidely short. It's a patterned response I developed when ever I feel overwhelmed or stuck in a bad place. Cursing never solves anything for me but releasing some of this venom inside me verbally and keeps me from breaking things. Rage or despair, which of these two evils to pick from? I can't say one is better than the other but I would rather rage than despair. I can't remember when I watched this National Geograhic special but it certainly left a lasting impression on me. The subject was the animals of the Serengeti. The photography was incredible and the insights into the everyday life and death struggles was amazing, but one particular part of the special effected me more than any other part. Until I saw this I never would have believed that hyenas actually hunted, but they do. The video was shot at night and the night vision gave the animals in the screen a strange reflection off their eyes. There eyes practically glowed. The hyenas had targeted a baby Black Rhino, an animal that is already endangered. The baby in the company of its mother had been harassed by the brutes all day. During the daylight hours the mother would trump any attacks and run off any hyena that approached. With night fall the poor sighted mother was virtually blind to these predators. Inspite of this she would not abandon her little one and continued to charge any hyena that approached. Once the mother was distracted the mob would move in and take nips at the baby Rhino. I remember thinking to myself "You assholes, get out your trucks get your F-ing guns and run these bastards off (the hyena pack). Don't just sit there and let this happen." They recorded this attack and the baby's cries would call back the mother Rhino and she would charge back to her infants side. As the mother tired her forays grew shorter and shorter. Her attempts to stay close were valient and at one point isolated and alone the baby rhino faces off against one of its attackers and actually charges the hyena. I cheered as the little guy dealt a punishing blow to the retreating hyena. The small victory was short lived and after what seemed far too long the baby Rhino was pulled down and killed. The mother called and called but her baby could no longer answer. She pranced and charged in frustration for a long while and eventually trotted off. I remember thinking to myself that nature is cruel. The forces of nature devoid of any compassion. I had been moved to tears. As I walked back to my van in the hospital parking lot the image of that brave little creature fighting back came back. Cancer can be like that pack of hyenas and cast in the familiar role of the baby rhino is my dear sweet mother-in-law. She is a spunky woman, that never complains and never surrenders. Each time her Lymphoma rears its ugly head it is driven off. Armed with chemo and with radiation and poor vision we cast modern medicine in the role of mother Rhino. I refuse to believe that this will end only one way so excuse me while I rage. Fuck life can be cruel.

I do listen to the comments and while I agree with both Wyvern and Cerulean that the last line is to say the least awkward, I can not remove any of the four. Perhaps the better phrase would be I will not. I have come up with an edit that I hope works better. Thank you all.

I have often been ambivalent about birthdays of late but it occurs to me that the alternative to having them is not having them. So with all things considered as W.C. Fields once said "...I'd rather be in Philadelphia." Hope you had a wonderful day.

Those familiar stings as eyes blink This odd game where we think How do we escape from this bad place? With reality staring us in the face A steady march to some unknown fate Cramps and discomfort a constant state Body failing, at war with itself Spirits waning, despair on a shelf This disease rages with each battle won A new conflict is brewing on the horizon Bags were packed for a holiday It snarled and said "not today" She suffers with quiet grace Sees only love on her husbands face She carries on smiles and waits With courage love hope and faith.

To me I am the moon, People see what they want. A light side that can guide, And dark side memories haunt I wonder Wyvern if I coud have simply changed this to read: To me I am the moon People see what they want. The light side that can guide, The dark side memories haunt. The change seems to improve the flow without disturbing the original thought. Thank you all for your kind words.

Ayshela, Mistress of Shadows, Elder of Harmony. Have you ever wondered what works of poetry would be produced by people that have never suffered or had a rough ride in life? As I read through this body of work, clearly you are not one of them. The title Mistress of Shadows, Elder of Harmony seems to fit you very well. By contrast my title might be Duke of Discord, Elder of Acrimony. My youngest son suffers from migraines and although I have never experienced the pain first hand I have been there, watching and feeling helpless. Your descriptions of what it feels like (Sumo wrestler in high heels) mixes resignation with humor. I enjoyed your poems very much but in terms of your gift for wielding words. Most of us when pushed around eventually push back. That you choose to do it with your wit and your intellect makes me smile. Your friend Regel Duke of Discord, Elder of Acrimony

Life teaches us a great deal of things. If I could I would like to add some of mine: *Murphy knew what he was talking about. *A smile is free. *It's cool to care. *Life is fragile. *Time does not heal all wounds. *The true measure of wealth is in the love and respect you receive from family and friends. *Humour is medicine for the soul. *In youth we learn; in age we understand. Marie Ebner von Eschenbach

The heavy rains and strong winds had passed. I wish I could have said the same thing about my headache. The mild October evening was inviting, so I took a stroll. As I walked out the door I felt and smelt the dampness. It was muggy, a term you normally associate with mid summer not October. Cold crisp air is what I had expected so the heavy leather jacket that weighs the same as my overfed cat was uncomfortably warm. “Oh well...” I thought “…I am just going around the block.” I was surprised at just how many people were still out an about. Some taking their evening constitutionals, (usually in twos) some just arriving home. I listened to an exchange between a young father who had just stepped out of his vehicle and was staring up. “Who is that!” he said. The answer came from a young boy who simply answered “It’s your son.” He couldn’t have been more than 4 years old. The porch light left me with just the gray silhouette of the father in running shoes and track pants. I remember those days, my wife and I just starting out and a family of three. I smiled involuntarily and kept on strolling. My pace was leisurely as I had no deadline and there was no destination in mind. My route had taking me down the steep slope on Birchcliff and now half way down Greenbrook. I was approaching our first home on Warren Rd. How many times had I walked this route in the past fourteen years? Waiting patiently as my sons would trick or treat their sacks full. It used to be an every night occurrence when we had Crystal, the golden retriever with the cow bell in her head. She was a beautiful dog but how does that saying go? “The porch light is on but there is nobody home.” At the corner of Warren and Greenbrook I was looking at the leaf litter on this lawn. It was like the line you see at high tide. The lowest point of the entire neighborhood was here. During times of heavy rain fall the sewers can keep ahead of the cascading waters. Torrents of water swirling right past gutters and surging onward until it reaches the Mighty Warren River! The name I coined our old street. The water would crest the paved surface and flood over the curb and sometimes cover the sidewalk. It was clear and dry at the moment. The bungalow was still there and a curious thought crossed my mind as I looked at the master bedroom window. Two out three sons had been conceived there in that room. The flood of memories both bitter and sweet flowed quickly through my mind. As I crossed Ripplewood I looked up the street and recalled all the old neighbors we used to chum with. Most had moved away not just around the corner like we did. I kept down Warren Rd. The tree canopy was heavy in this neighborhood. It reminded me of the way London my hometown used to be. Streetlights illuminated spots on the sidewalk and even with a three quarter full moon it was dark. These leaves will soon carpet the ground here. Small children will swirl through dead leaves dressed in costumes and another year will have passed. I am in my autumn I thought to myself. More of my life has past than I have left in front of me and I am ok with that. The walk had picked up a bit as the slow steady climb back home began up Forest Hill Drive. We live in paradise compared to most and yet we spend more of our energy and time comparing our fortune with others. Dam that Robin Leach! It’s his fault (and also our fault). Simple pleasures are the best like a stroll on a pleasant night.

Well there is a sad sight indeed when half the pen has already said Happy Birthday and my post has yet to be found. Happy Birthday my dear friend. Tough to celebrate an anniversary when the real world has you in a submission hold and believe me I have had those types of birthdays. I believe I went as far as cancelling my birthday one year because I was having such a bad day. The individuals here that you have befriended have not forgotten you. Although I have no gift Peredhil but I do have a wish, and that is from this day forward things continue to get better for you.

As a child the smell of home was on the front porch before I ever entered the house. Some of my mother's Italian meals would put a smile on my face and my stomach on alert. In terms of what made me smile the widest, hands down it would have to be short pork ribs cooking in a tomato sauce. The simmering smells of a penne rigata, meatballs and short ribs would welcome me home.

To me I am the moon, People see what they want. A light side that can guide, And dark side memories haunt Circling I make my rounds People set their clock Illuminating are my visits, Persuasive when I talk. Strafed and cratered as I am, Desolate and diurnal My cycle makes me wax and wane But I am definitely nocturnal. Silver silent shades of grey Lifeless as a stone I wait for another night to pass So I can lumber home.

To my friend Peredhil: Have you ever thought your true nature is like the moon with a dark side and a light side? We each of us have both, a side the shines almost as brilliant as the sun and a side that the light has never touched. To Ozymandias the Elder: Have you ever driven an entire day away, because you wouldn't stop and ask for help? To Cryptomancer: Have you ever spilled so much of your own blood that you could have written a novel? The answer to all of these is "I have." Ayshela wrote: Nope! I have done both.

The New Belief struck me as quite unlikely until I did a Google search on a term I wasn't familiar with. I loaded up the phrase "The pre-amp sermon" and got several hits. Top of the list was Presonus, a company that helps churches realize the potential of digital computer recording. I was both shocked and bemused by this, but in truth I am not sure why. Religous icons brought into modern times? I liked the use of this imagery. The structure of this piece also struck me as odd. Somehow overlapping or overlaying the lines had to be deliberate. The artificial peaks that you created has a resemblance to the manora you mention in the piece. The piece is extremely challenging to the casual reader. The use of terms like "Shine on through jagged Jesus graf" forced me to once again search the net. My research led me here, http://graffitiresearchlab.com/?page_id=13 Once again I was both stunned and amazed at the obvious gap in my technological education. The message pumped with images and sounds it amazed me. I look it this piece entirely different now. Your a complex dude Wyvern.

The concrete held on to the tiny green leaf in spite of my best efforts with the corn broom. I finally relented and stopped trying to sweep it up and simply bent over and picked it up. I returned to sweeping the thorny seed pods, leaves and small broken branches into piles. The day is warm but not overly sunny. Pools suck in September. Especially the ones unheated and surrounded by Beechnut trees. Cleaning the clogged skimmer basket was becoming a daily chore. Often it included the discovery of a dead rodent. Moles that thought they were otters drown and swirl around until they come to rest in that skimmer basket. This year had been a particularly bad one for small mammals. Three young rabbits (yes bunnies) the size of kittens, half a dozen grey mice, one red squirrel and more moles than I can remember. I hate fishing out those floaters. I swept the deck and finished vacuuming the litter at the bottom of the pool. The pool cover was next. I started turning out the brass anchors with the hex shaped tool with the bright red handle. “Lefty Lucy” I said to myself and continued to work my way around the pool. The sun broke through the clouds and the warm sunshine was appreciated. The freshly vacuumed pool sparkled as I unfolded the leaf cover. The lever bar forced the spring loaded clasps over the brass anchors. It covered in a matter of ten minutes. The plugs into the jets and returns are next but first the pool pump needs to be shut off. Prone I hand turn the plugs into the jets. The task seems so much easier when the water isn’t frigid. Inside the shed I continue to drain this and unscrew that. Another season comes to and end. The final blaze of color will come soon, hints of red and yellow ting the leaves. Without the constant hum from the pool pump the backyard grew quiet. The remaining sounds all natural. Birds chirping, wind moving through branches rustles the leaves the background noise to my own thoughts. My coversation with Terrilee replayed in my head. Her doctors can't explain what is happening or not happening with her lung cancer. The fluids that had not returned her weight gain and her health all a mystery. "Do you know how many people are praying for you Terrilee?" I asked. Her reaction was unsettling. "If there is God then why me, why my mother and my father?" I waited for her to settle a bit. "I don't need you to believe in God Terrilee, I will believe for you. Besides if you don't believe, then who are you angry at?" She has made all of her short term goals, her son Spencer's pool party, her trips to Florida, her marriage and her son Mitchel's birthday they had all come and she is still here. "I'm scared Joe." she said to me. "I know love, you're going to have to set some new goals." I closed the pool shed and headed up the hill carrying the leaf bag. I stop just long enough to see the taunt green leaf cover and the freshly swept concrete deck. As I stood there I watched a tiny leaf flutter its way to the ground. I sighed as I turned and entered my home.

September rains are almost always summers swan song. The colours in the trees are still green but the cold night air suggests that summer has consumed itself and fall will soon show its colours. The Labourday weekend is here and we are off to a wedding today. What a remarkable story about yet another friend diagnosed with lung cancer that was given three months to live (four months ago). What is remarkable is that her health continues to both amaze and confound her doctors. What had been reoccuring bouts of fluid building in her lungs as stopped, at least for now. Her long time boyfriend proposed only a month ago and today he will make her his wife for as long as they both have each other. She had told Dan that before she could accept they would have to ask her two boys aged 13 and 10. They were delighted and so she agreed. Today is the day that many a bottle of wine shall spill their contents and the celebration of their wedding shall be enjoyed by their closest friends and family. The weather is cloudy and wet and what would have been an outside wedding has gone into a church. Call me old fashion but that is where weddings should take place. The reception will be lively and I believe the water I am drinking now is to limit the size of the hangover I will have tomorrow.

You were born on a Tuesday. Your star sign is Leo. The season was Summer. You are 52 years, 0 months, 16 days old.* It is 349 days until your next Birthday.* You are 19,009 days old.* You are approximately 456,228 hours old.* You are approximately 1,642,423,421 seconds old.*

That "The Pen is mightier than the sword" exists at all is amazing. My expectations of it have always been limited. I really only expect that the people in charge will continue to be people of compassion, that they will seek to build a safe environment for poets and writers to post. The rest is really out of their hands. The rest is always up to the rest of us. As a peripheral member I have always been treated fairly. I have never had comments that have been anything but constructive and supportive. I really don't have any demands or even questions.

Thank you one and all. Spent my birthday going out to lunch with my wife and dinner out with the whole crew later that night.

This test is obviously flawed. http://home.att.net/~slugbutter/evil/angelic.jpg

There are times when time does stand still while crickets sing and candles burn. This August evening smack dab in the middle of a long weekend and I find myself sitting on my deck, tappings on the keys of my notebook while sipping a glass of Vidal. I watch as my wife and youngest son enjoy a quiet dip in our pool. Seems like ages since I have had or taken the time to do very little. No visitors to entertain, no wedding to attend just a free unplanned weekend. A chance to unburden oneself and some time to appreciate what gifts we have been given. The break from the heat was so welcomed, 36 degrees celcius for three days followed by a summer thunderstorm easing off into a cooler sunny day. A chance to swim in the pool, play a game of golf with the little guy and a cold bottle of wine to top off a great meal. Everyone has gone away and left us to fend for ourselves. The birthday callers had their day and this evening was for my wife and I. She and I have gone through alot together, it hasn't always been smooth but I doubt I could have ever found a better person to share my life with. A few words pass between us and soon the wine dwindles down to a last sip. God I love summer.

Intoxicating, that's what sleep deprivation does. It is intoxicating and it's effects are clearly show in your poem. Put's me in mind of an old Beatle song. Can you guess which one? It goes Both are heavily image laden works brought about by altered states of conciousness. Sleep deprivation is a serious problem; people do go crazy, the inability to concentration and irritability. No wonder it was used as a brain washing technique. Your health is at risk here. If you can't resolve this sleepless state your in on your own, seek help.

I read this entire piece smiling. I grew up as a kid with out Nintendo, computers or even cable and spent many an hour watching the marching of these tiny creatures feet. My fanscination was as great as the phobia you decribe in the poem. Alive or dead the idea of ants methodically marching in one opening and out the other would drive me insane. I very much like the pace and the venacular you used to illustrate the anxiety. A wonderfully odd piece.

Salted faces of disbelief Ship adrift with a broken beam Shattered deck, wet with grief What horrors had this good crew seen? Sickly sounds as we ran a ground Repeatedly we would pound 'till finally we broke free Listing badly now scuppers filling with the sea. The wind sang while white waters crashed Boards creaked and torn sails lashed Rocks unseen, sea that gnashed The good ship groaned, all hopes were dashed