Baby Dancer

I'm scared. 

I'm scared like a mo fo, bo. 

I don't know if I can go toe to toe

eye to eye, surprise to hides

anymore.

I don't know. 

We can dance a dance

and plunder pilfered protections

but this infection,

again?

I don't know and I'm scared. 

The scars barred and flung our faces 

to face this and now,

I have millions of excuses

validated and stated in the handbook of

"what not to do"

and this knot we do. . . 

I'm scared and I don't know. 

I'm sick of carrots and you have strings of them.

I see your appetite for running now

and, hungry as I am. . . 

I don't know.

Now we've just swapped places 

and facing this, embracing this, 

well, Baby Dancer,  

maybe we can see you breathe,

but. . .  

I'm scared. 

This twice invested

vice infested start. . .

I don't know if my heart can take it anymore.

You're either giggly or grown,

but now knowing what I've always known,

I. . . 

I'm scared and I don't know.

The Importance of Frolicking

     As a culture we seem to have forgotten the importance of frolicking. Frolicking, in essence, is a playful gesture often seen in children: skipping through a field, playing in the mud, running through the woods and laughing all the way. In general we have lost our ability to play in such ways considering them to be childish. In reality we've become so "adult" that we consider ourselves often too old or having "outgrown" these playful activities and simple enjoyments of life. 

     Let me start by defining terms. 1) Frolicking; Unabashed joy and unashamed togetherness (Frolicking is rarely done alone). When people say, "It's the little things," they summarize what I mean by frolicking. I will expound on its importance after a few more definitions. 

     2) Childish. Childishness is the inability to cope with responsibility, to interact properly, and to only do what we feel like doing. Laziness, disregard of responsibility, and a sense that one deserves without earning are sure signs of Childishness. Obviously this is the negative side of being a child and unfortunately it is often lumped in with Childlikeness. 

     3) Childlikeness is to be utterly honest, creative, exploring, in awe of everything, hopeful, and believing. Alas, Childlikeness is often thrown out with Childishness and abandoned in an attempt to "grow up." All of the Childlike qualities are things that many adults try to regain through midlife crises. We know that we have missed out on experiencing what life has to offer when these qualities dim or die out of our daily lives. 

     4) Being an "Adult." Cold, suppressing of desires, ruthless, and generally "too cool for school." As though some how growing up is to be desperately inert, being an "adult" has caused more misery following its stigmatism and has driven our culture to condemn the creative and condone mediocrity. Contrast with. .  .

     5) Maturity; knowing, discerning, and performing proper conduct in any situation; to be respectful and considerate of others. The wonder of maturity is that is does not conflict with Childlikeness at all. Maturity knows that there is a time and place to climb a tree and yet it does not oppose the climbing of trees. It considers other's feelings and is therefore able to both compliment, critique, and act tactfully. 

     Our goal should be to be both Childlike and Mature: to know when and how to frolic. It is possible to be Childish, refusing to mature, and/or and "adult," refusing creativity and passion for life, so much so that we believe it normal. These are either extreme of avoiding reality and responsibility. We have a tendency to follow both of these negative paths because they are popular, conformed, and easy. Nobody wants to stand out and our standardized culture oppresses and abuses the Childlike and tries to take advantage of the mature. 

     This is the importance of frolicking; to be able to wisely discern, in consideration of others, what act(s) would bring the most joy to everyone and to one's self. We must wean ourselves from the ever popular and indicted sense of being owed (Childishness) and the idea of putting ourselves and others down for creativity and joy ("Adult"-ness) and chew the true foods of Childlikeness and Maturity. Then we will live as we should, as we are meant, as we desire. We must strive to loose our resistance, feel the wind in our faces, and unapologetically frolic together.

A Letter of Marvel and Hope

To You who controls the world,

How gracious our existence is. 

We are marveled small wonders

and You created reality. 

If existence itself is quandary

then how vast its Creator?

How wondrous the hand 

that leaves these fingerprints.

When all the ages have past

You remained. 

History mocks us in secrecy

yet You know full well

each man's breath as it falls. 

Such pictures painted in each ancient sunset.

From acorns to oaks, mountains to sand,

You begin and end each temporal gesture. 

Burn and erase untold knowledge and beauty

that closed-eyed men have ever reached for. 

All of mystery's answers are in You. 

The song of Your voice illumined the universe;

All things are crinkled waves 

that ripple from Your first gesture. 

Graces are continually poured in a cistern

that prepares purifying and wrathful flames. 

All songs are love in desperation 

before evil's debt is paid. 

You dance for the righteous

who have been covered in Your blood.

You weep for the barren

who close their ears and wombs.

Soon rebirth will resound 

and all doubt will fade. 

Soon Your intent of perfection

will be secured;

once all who desire You 

have known of you silently

and will be purified and see Your face. 

I have hope in Your song

for Your words will resound again

when grace outpours

and Your wrath completes. 

Tetris Warrior

I am Tetris. 

I run in drastic speeds to block blocks

and clock boxes to spin them into integrated consignments.

My assignment is to perfectly fit each brick 

into each other brick that fits with all its bits

into airtight packages that ravage any air between. 

I am armed to the teeth with whitening strips 

that steal away perfect layers and purveyors

of these multi colored crates. 

I'm clothed in tight plastic armor

enchanted with speed and dexterity.

Gloves of grip prevent a slip 

from my formidable fingers. 

Boots crafted of earth glow with firefly goo

and shine a bright sublime light

to pierce the black night that I call home. 

My speed, unabashed, is unmatched. 

No eye can catch me as I swerve through 

Neanderthaled gravity and show that depravity

is a mistress I left long ago.

I am Perfection's intent and Order's only child. 

The quadra-pod containers never turn because gamers

light taps on button and levers for it is I who reign in this land. 

They think outside through glass hung screens

that they control the blocks and thoughts? 

Any experienced player knows 

that they have no time to cognitively think

or work to show that their own institution

can prevent the convolution 

when the world shapes to perfect fits. 

No, 'tis my own will that consumes their minds, 

running their subconscious in graphed calculations

pursuing station of perfect reform. 

I shape the globed lobes of their brains

and reign the points quantity rains

for I have slain the cubed dragon

and collected its spoils beneath my boots.

Thanks to Barbara for this Saturday's inspiration of "living inside Tetris."

The Before Date Waiting

I don't want to leave too early

because I don't want to get there too early

because I know I'll sit there and wait until 6:30.

Because I don't want to intrude on her time;

Because doing that to women is a crime;

and considering this whole thing is on my dime,

I think I'll sit here at home and finish this rhyme.

But there's only a few minutes left

before my guilt of time theft,

because being late on the first date

could cause us to immediately separate.

But that just goes back to the time crime dime rhyme.

But no really, it's fine.

There's still a couple more minutes before I need leave,

but if i know anything about traffic it's that it always deceives.

but if I'm too soon I'll be bored in my car instead of going to knock

but I always forget my ipod so it's not like I could rock.

So maybe I could just stand outside her door

and watch my watch until the moment before,

but camping outside in my car is creepy

and sitting too long might make me sleepy,

and her clock might be set to a different time.

Then there's no choice but to appear asinine.

and just think, if I go after running around my own mind,

I'll be too exhausted to be interesting and kind.

I can't stand her up though it might calm me so. 

Because dates are the waits that weight me low.

It's hard to answer the questions I don't know and. . . 

O crap, I'm late. . . 

I'd better go. 

Haikus for the Busy

Two ended candle

Grand light for eons it seems

Yet soon flame will fade

Of course I can help

I don't have to be somewhere

I forgot homework

Back-burnered projects

Gas runs low and joys cool down

Stale intentions die

Pacing is the key

Fret not for birds eat and rest

Jehovah Jirah

Must learn to say no

Healthy portions are easy

A plate half full sleeps

The Outflow

Molted plastic spaces

and melted plastic faces

all singing the same sad song. 

With all of our demeaning

you'd think that our dreaming

would carry us all along.

But stay and smell the roses,

fight and bend the toses

and all the mocking is set free.

After ten sweet showers

our observation powers

fog in mirrors pretending glee.

Why then, my brethren,

do we ignore rhododendron

and keep all Ollie's oxen for me?

Are we so sick of dancing

that we fein joyful prancing

and pretend rather than be?

Let us learn in weeping

that  broken heart seeping

is wings to let us fly. 

If we hold all alone

and have bitter biting tone

we will starve and die.

Bleed on our brothers,

our sisters, fathers, mothers,

or those with bond as strong.

Until we can scream out

bite bullets and shout

we'll burst from silenced soul songs.

Forgo the gross methods

of false-strong intrepids

and let hugs unbind our leash.

When we admit weakness

our love can run ceaseless

and we'll finally feel the breeze.

A Great Way to Be Alone

Piss or Get off the Pot

Boxed Chocolates

Jesus Loves

To the tune of "Jesus Loves Me."

Jesus loves the little children,

all the people in the world.

He loves the man that beats his wife,

the woman who took her own life,

and the man that raped the little girl.

Christens condemn the little children,

all the people in the world.

The woman who has a wife,

The man that kills with a knife,

and prostitutes will make them hurl.

But Jesus loves all the damned, 

all those hated by the christen pearls.

He paid only one price,

to buy all our lives,

and grace His is enough to cover the whole world.

Pregnant's Pause

Pregnant pangs swipe at mother earth. 

Long seeped poison rots 'til birth. 

Wailing for faded shadows of her first

glances of the Father's great mirth. 

He sings to her four corners through winds.

He cools her forehead with rains He sends.

She groans her last hours before all He mends. 

He waits for their children's counting to end. 

Soon all will awaken from the dark. 

Her moans will end, His grin will spark. 

His fire will purge the dead's mark. 

She will birth and the offspring harked. 

He gathers the children day by day. 

Their tears and fears He will allay.

In earth mother's new life we will play. 

In His embrace we will forever stay. 

Foxy Fleas

O look at the dance of foxes with fleas!

When once you find your slipped grip free

your hands spin 'round and grasp for me. 

What antics frantic, fraught with fear

cause you to fling and call, my dear?

Are icy claws found in your nails?

Are melting hands why you lost your male?

Yet you find your smile in mine

and speak as once feined and pined. 

Now again alone ground and free,

your sites are set, your purchase me. 

Is this what wrought in youth and glee

you seek so soon after your bite and seethe?

Yet the twisted smile draws me near,

but do not think I am crystalline clear

and easily smitten and swooning in kind. 

But at least for now, in dancing and scratching

in singing in fleeting, I do not mind.

Headwind

     Her hair draped down to the park bench. She closed her eyes and a tear hung dead at the end of an eyelash. Her fingers curled and clenched around her sagging seat. She would be the wood's thorn. 

Everything was black and white. All color left with her smile. Her teeth clashed and warred. The tear released and lingered down to her dress; a perfect sphere looking for home. 

     The wind scoffed and her drizzled hair swung into soft reminders. She twitched, unclenched the bench as the blood sifted into her white knuckles and she swiped the wet of her eyes. 

     She walked. The cobble stones laughed under her feet. Her shoe caught and dared her to fall. She did. Her hands started out to catch herself but she stopped them. She welcomed the wind. 

     Light caught in the dust and haloed her flattened body. Her weight blended into the earth and pooled beneath her. It looked like blood. She gurgled a laugh. She bent upwards, plowing her hands into the earth. She saw her hair mixed in the red goo and she laughed again. This time more clear. 

     Red was the first color she had seen since. Her throbbing face the first thing she felt. Her face down bellow the first time she laughed. The world twisted the side of its lips up and she joined it; blood dripping, weighted hair swinging, and the wind at her back. 

Climb and Climb Again

I drip dropped

from the tip top

of the click clock

and sit, sought 

another way.

I griped taut 

the slip knot,

head bopped,

popped glop

and again strayed.

Light bright

fights night bites.

Blights rights

trite mites.

Asunder, frayed.

High dive drives, 

thrives lives to strive. 

Why try die

when my life lies?

Work 'til His day. 

I Want

I want. . . 

To lay in a field and watch the stars smile down on us. 

A hand to lace my fingers in and a sigh to share.

To fill a smirk with tears only by snuggling. 

A silent conversation that's louder than a bluegrass band.

To wander through the woods and never wonder if we'll get home.

A moment when moments cease and irises engrave each other.

To know and to be known in a ceaseless study session.

A whirlwind that mixes our souls and sings soft, strong, and smooth.

Grave to Glory Haikus

Graveyard, fully blind

His blood glazes earth and seeps

Stones unlock their cells

Scourged hands breach to air

His song wraps the bones in flesh

Hybrid's breath begins

Rocks pull and sky beckons 

Rupture within blood and dust

Internal war fills

Bent knees, humble heart

Skin enwraps faded bone's sting

Miracle occurs

Flesh fades, new heart pumps

All dust has faded, basking

Home in new body

Steamed

Melt your eyes as the sit in mine.

You are Ice and I am Flame. 

We steam around each other

floating up and down,

glazing glass and dripping united.

I, the west wind, 

you, the east. 

We tornado into violent plumes

and leave our wake wet

with wanting and awe. 

We take turns leading

and falling, burning

and crawling. 

Our hands melt 

to pieces of each other.

When I enraged you cool me.

When you float frozen

I beacon you home.

No matter how the world turns

we always keep each other warm. 

Thanks to Barbara for this Saturday's inspiration about mixing coldness and warmth.

Twisted Abomination

My eyes have seen many levels of glory and of deceit. 

Scales pull at my pupils and beg for freedom, but are too engrained. 

Tears surge through trying to relieve them of their roots yet they hold firm.

My crooked teeth burn with fury shooting fire up to bleed the blinds away.

My claws twitch and stab their pointed venom into my sockets as I rush for sight, 

But in my foresight I know that no length ran, no height climbed, no depth swum,

can free me from this savage visage.

I am the blood pouring from a heart and the shell that keeps it.

I am the sword drawn only for death.

I am the moment when the soul slips away.

I am the accident with all intention.

If a coward knew my name he would see he is brave.

If a fool could see my folly he would know his own wisdom.

If a mouse could hear my cries he would know of his strength. 

If a boar could feel my heart he would know he is tame.

Feet twisted and bruised from sprinting gravel.

Elbows long dead from protecting a fallen face.

Ears long removed from ignorance.

Lungs viciously torn from reckless wanting.

Insight has only lead me to the corrupted organs

And the blood that oozes between them.

Inside is where from the scales grow,

The fangs sharpen,

The claws learn to bite,

The poison begins.

What hope is built from in-self indulgence,

When this abomination is so apparent?

What life can spurn from the harbinger of death,

When disease is the only language it speaks?

What life can be churned from a mind 

When so full of fallacy and misgiving?

What breath can be derived 

When so limited the perception of air?

I am not.

I am knotted.

I am no.

I cannot know.

I am assent.

I cannot ascend.

I am barren.

I am bare.

Ditch

I'm going to die in a ditch.

Would you like to join me?

A wet romp in yesterdays rain

is a cold way to keep warm. 

It will make us sick together forever. 

I don't know any ways to stay strong

and keep singing. But nothing matters now. 

My mind is gutter friendly 

and my fiend's frivolity 

is a cornered stone that's crumbling. 

Join me in this vent and we'll pretend we're skydiving:

freely falling until the rocks catch us

and forget the past.

I promise it's safe in the toxic reeds. 

Hold me tight and drown.

It's safest when you're in absolute danger.

No one goes looking for the attempting dead

among the dead.

Only accidental headlights will bother us now.

We'll fall and scream and burn, 

freezing together.

It's better that we fail

and lay down together then try, right?

Right?

I don't have anything left. 

Please join me. 

Then we will screech a sore throat song

and the world will fade to black without us. 

Idleness and Idlesness

Idleness and Idlesness; all the same in vain.

For the slow sloth teaching 

is breaching and beseeching 

and slowly pulls out the drain.

Cold hands are warning as no blood flows.

The broken inactive

brings bones retroactive

and the mind drags and slows.

For lunch pulls out the beckoning cry. 

This then is breathing

in cold heart bereaving

in the sit and slow of sigh. 

We built the Devil his playground.

With our bars he will monkey

for days we smell funky

and blubber fewer sounds. 

Our swords have rusted to hilt.

Perhaps we could try

but then we may die;

'tis better to not bear the guilt.

Haikus of Work and Rest

So my body wears

My blood thins, my eyes dim down

Yet Jesus keeps me

Work cannot kill me

I am ready, young and strong 

Yet stress can destroy

Past one million

Miles all blend and fade blurred

Enjoy while I'm young

My bed and I merge

Mingle our bodies in peace

The sun will rip us

Sight fades to daydream

Bed woos new realities

I coma, smile

The Church Search

The Church Search

I have had no less than five different people discuss with me in one way or another that they are looking for a church home or "Church Searching." Here are my thoughts about what we as Christ Followers should look for in a church home and the reasons to attend. 

First, what are important qualities that a church needs to have?

1. The church has an emphasis on community. 

The reason we should go to church at all instead of only having our personal walk with Christ prioritized is because we need community. This is why the writers of Hebrews state that we should not be "neglecting to meet together, as is the habit of some, but encouraging one another. . . " (1)

There are a plethora of reasons why community is important and why our relationship with Christ is personal and yet not private, but that's another topic entirely.

2. Christ is the center of everything the church does. 

If the emphasis lies anywhere else, on money, people, or even respectable causes then they have lost sight of God. All good things come from God and so all these good things will happen anyway if God is the focus. 

3. The Bible needs to be preached. Everything comes back to Jesus; His death on the Cross and God resurrecting Him from the dead and the entire Bible that leads up to and after it. Many other aspects of being a Christ Follower exist and need to be addressed but all these things can be summed up with Christ. Also, it strengthens. "Now to Him who is able to strengthen you according to my gospel and the preaching of Jesus Christ. . ." (2). Preaching is necessary and the preaching must be from the Bible.

4. The church needs to be giving away a percentage of its income either through donation or service. 

"God loves a cheerful giver" (3). If the church does not give then it's heart is in the wrong place. Find somewhere else. But even if everything seems extravagant or unnecessary, that doesn't mean it is. It matters what God is doing there and if the church is reflecting Christ with giving. Ask about the church's giving and if they refuse to tell you, leave. 

Now here are some things that do NOT matter when looking for a church:

1. The music. 

No matter what style the music, how old the minister, or if they are wearing jeans or bow ties, it has no relevance to what church we should attend. What matters is the heart we come with not the style of the facilitation. If we get caught up on the imperfections or stylistic differences of others, then we are ignoring our own sin and condemning others for not doing it our way.

2. The Appearance.

How the people are dressed or the building is decorated should have nothing to do with your decision. Jesus never denied anyone for their style and he preached in the temple and outside in front of a lake. We do not know better than Jesus and our standards should not be higher than His.

3. The size. 

The church can meet in someone's house and have twenty people, or it can be multi-campus and have 10,000 people. It doesn't matter. If the above criteria are met then size makes no difference. It can be intimidating in either extreme, but wherever passionate believers are gathered is where you need to be. 

That being said now is the most challenging part. How should I prepare myself when looking for a church?

When looking for a church we are looking for a group of Christ Followers who are hungry for more of God and helping each other love Him. No matter where you go not everyone will seem (because we cannot truly know anyway) to always be a giant pillar of light for Jesus; nobody is. But while on the church search we must come to every gathering as the following:

1. Come hungry.
If we are not asking God to reveal Himself to us through worshiping Him and the Preaching of His word, don't be surprised if He doesn't. It's not the pastor's fault if we come not wanting to learn and love. If the above criteria are being met, then God will speak and will commune with us. I find this is especially true in groups. 

2. Come humble.
If we enter into anything with a critical eye and condemning anything or everything because we don't like how something is being done, then we didn't come to church to commune with Christ and other believers, we came to judge and destroy. We need to ask God for humility as we approach any group of believers we are not familiar with. We can't know how God is working in the church if we sit and blame the mechanics. 

3. Come willing.

We must be willing to serve and not just expect to be served at church. Church is not a drive through where we come speeding past the window, demanding something and leave so we can tell our friends how cheap and unhealthy the food is. We must be looking for a place that we can join in and serve each other not only with our time but with our money. This is another reason knowing how the church spends its money is important. The truth is that we must want and desire to become part of God's greater Church with a small section of His church. We need to ask, how can we become a functional part of this specific body of Christ. If church searching is only about what we can get out of it then we've missed God. God is the most generous giver of all and if we refuse to give then don't be surprised when we can't find something that "suits" us. We must come willing to give of ourselves for the benefit of others. 

Overall, the Church Search is about glorifying God with a specific body of believers around us. We must give as much as we receive. We must be hungry, humble and willing. I hope this helps you find a place where you can glorify God for your own joy and for the joy of all peoples. 

Footnotes

1. Hebrews 10:25

2. Romans 16:25a

3. 2 Corinthians 9:7b

The Burn of Distant Beauty

It's acid when you're beautiful.

I turn and self-distract; dutiful.

I dread your teeth marks.

Yet I friction to sparks.

So close, like fingertips;

ice that melts until I slip;

scorching rage inside out;

accidents that aren't allowed. 

All the warnings blare.

Though I look for triggers to snare.

I rip myself in two; 

hoping for and against you. 

I know you're out of reach

and so my blood is leached

because your dangers sing

I hold; still burning. 

Your lips are graced with song

and my ears sing along

but I must mute to suit

the fog horn and safety shoot.

So I scream another hymn

and clinch teeth in chagrin,

nail my feet to the floor

and try not to want you more.

But every lilt and every sigh

stings and gouges my eyes.

The curl and dance of your hair

singes my chest and I clench and bare.

Your graceful walk strums encores

and echos and peals and bores.

One day I'll have her; my chorus.

You will be ripped away for us.

Then all the chemical scaring

will heal and end the marring.

But until the distant then

I will lye and burn again.

Passion is How the World Changes

Fire rains down and scorches the earth. 

The plants fizzle and drift in ashy bits 

on warm currents and leave behind their roots.

The flaming spheres fume their way through the earth

like butter suffering from a hot knife treachery. 

The volcano coughs and refuels the smoked trails.

Earthen bits mix and cool and prepare to catch their brothers

as they sail over and through all boundaries. 

Soon the forest will reclaim the waste with renewed vigor.

All the grayed green will thrive again 

and storm the tower of its bane.





Thanks to Laurel for this Saturday's inspiration of "hot, because I have passion and creativity."

Sister Haikus

Her fangs grip my skin

"No, I scrapped him with my teeth"

O, what I excuse

"Your outfit clashes"

"Here this looks better on you"

Date fail averted

He thinks he's enough

I'm polishing the shotgun

He'd better be nice

Something terrible

Hold her until the world fades 

No words will help her

Soon I'll have a wife

Yet since I grew up with you

I am half prepared

Fingals Cave

The most fierce of warriors battle in the sea.

Smoke brings her fury with lightening,

Rock with his sullen unmoving.

Death is all that waits for those who cross them.

But never has there been a temptation such as this;

to see the moment when Smoke and Rock ensnare each others eyes.

Smoke begins to swoon over the Rock's formidable gaze,

Rock burns his brazen eyes into her.

She slithers her soft curves closer; longing for his advance.

He holds firm but for his knuckles crumbling in anticipation.

He speaks with words forming from the liquid dragons splashing at his sides,

She responds by sending the gulls to sing of the persistence for which she longs.

But the wind and the waters grow impatient of watching the separation

and thrust Smoke and Rock together.

Smoke fondles the tops of Mountain;

purses her lips around stone pillars.

Rock is holding firm his grasp;

pursuing her until her joy is complete

She curves her soft, subtle beauty around his columns.

He is steadfast in her depths until neither can be distinguished.

The gulls sing of there intimacy,

the dragons splash against them in their joy.

Smoke becomes Rock and Rock becomes Smoke.

They thrash against the waters until Fire is emancipated

as a beacon jabbing into the sky, proclaiming their passion.

wind, earth, water, fire.

In their bond the earth is culminated;

in love, in fury, in haste.

All that have tried to see them,

touch them,

are pecked apart by the gulls

and crushed by the foaming dragons.

All of nature fights against the voyeurs.

For what God hath wrought

no man can taint.






Inspired by the painting of Thomas Moran by the same name. 

Men and Womens

     Mens and womens. Mmhm. Two parts o' th' same really. See 'cause, when God made man he tried all th' tings outside o' him to find sumpin' to be his equal. All th' animals and tings in th' world came through and he is there namin' 'em and name' 'em but they ain't nothing that suits him. See now God knows that. He has all 'em animals coming through knowing Adam ain't gonna find one for suits him. 'Cause see, God thinkin', "I's gonna show him th' whole world and let's him see they ain't none gonna be all that good, not perfect at least. That way he's gonna see ain't nothing in th' world's as perfect for him as who I'm 'bout to make." So then God knocks Adam out like some holy novocain and pulls out his rib and sows him up, He's th' best surgeon you could ever ask for havin' made us and all, and makes that rib into a woman. 

     It's good to know God didn't take nothin' above or below, but He's took that rib outta Adam's side. See here's where we know that mens and womens is equal. She come right outta next to him. Is also why mens and womens likes to snuggle so much. When he brings her in close all wrapped up in his arms she's just comin' on home. That's where she came from and where she belongs, right up next to him and him next to her. That's why it's so warm and happy and sweet and all. I know I could probably be all snuggled up forever and be alright. 

     Now let me tell you 'bout this woman. Adam wakes up, probably shakes hi'self off, dusting his shoulders and then when he looks up, bam, there she is right there. Now I don't quite know how t' describe what it's like a for a man who ain't never seen a woman before to see a woman for the first time, but let me tell you, if he had socks they woulda been knock clean off into th' next county if they had had counties back then. But he didn't have no socks or nothin.' Niether of 'em did. Stark naked like plucked chiken's readied up to fry. So fist time in his life he sees supmin' that ain't covered in hair or a lizard and it's a naked woman. His chest must filled and fallen real heavy for a bit. 'Member how'd he'd been talkin' all day for namin' everything in th' world? My money says he didn't have one single word for a good ten minutes. And she's probably just gazin' at him the same, never havin' seen a man and all, and her eyes musta struck a fire in his bones. You know how women's eye can do that. Talk about boilin' th' oil. Mmhm. 

     You can tell that he was struck real good by her too. The first thing Adam said was, "This at last is bone o' my bones and flesh o' my flesh." Funny ting is ain't nobody had t' tell him that. He just knew. He knew right off that she and him were one. Already th' same ting in two parts. That says sumpthin' 'bout the beauty of womens for sure.

     See there's what it means to be lovin' a woman and for a woman to be lovin' you. It's how it's always been whether it's been treated that way or not. That's how it was made. You gotta know that you is one, what's bad for one is bad for both and what's good is good for both. It's life together 'cause we is made for each other. Don't mean it's bad to be single. Christ hi'self was single his whole life. Just 'member once you is got a woman and she got you, that's it. Ain't nobody else is woman anymore. Everybody else's females you happen to bump into. That's about all I got to say 'bout that.

Humility Haikus

Two holes worn in floor

Bowed head, shaken hands, mixed tears

Crushed knees reveal light

Destroy our towers

Self exhortation brings death 

Through rubble we rise

Admit to weakness

Strength is in chinks acknowledged

Known weakness builds might

Pride destines swift death

No one can survive alone

Confidence distracts 

When eyes stop at nose

When no one else is vital

World blurs to nonsense

Trophies dust and rust

Last place assures victory

Glory more in friends

Acclaim: fading mist

Praise of men is temporal

Strive for the good fight

Good guys finish last

Ensure all can survive race

Bad guys end alone

From rags came hero

From heaven to homelessness

Servant rescues all

Drunk with Sailing

Laughing gull breezes sifting your soul

and twirling fingertips into lines no artist can catch. 

Wave back at the ocean as its belly deep laughter 

cajoles your boat to lucid harmonies of sky and surf. 

Parachute your arms and mingle with the heavens

until you pour out a drizzled sun shower. 

Adrenaline pumped glances scour for puddles 

to slip on, to bite the lure of the salty seduction. 

To fly through the water's luscious smile

and chase fish through invisible mazes. 

Construct a coral wreath and soar shimmering 

through the kingdom of clams. 

Yet the moment sobers and somber tears follow

and cut sharp oceans through your cheeks.

One day Heaven will rend the elements to Majesty

and all will sing and glory in dance.

Yet for now, you'll satisfy for a gentle sway, a sunset

and a zephyr whispering through your hair.

The National Hangover Day Address of 2012

     Hello, citizens of the United States of America, 

     Today is the first day of 2012. We have come far during 2011 and this year holds more promise than any year in our nation's history. On this nationally celebrated holiday, where the final digit on our calendar ticks, where we have a new beginning, where we find ourselves in a new place in time, we know that we have begun it well. 

     The last moments of 2011 were spent in a celebration of life, friendships, love and the hope of recognizing who we woke up next to. As our heads rebel against balance, our eyes rebel against light, our ears rebel against sound, we know this; that America has stood strong through another night with ourselves.

     Georgians have a special reason to celebrate this year in that they may now legally purchase alcohol on Sundays to help curb the desperate state our bodies have awoken in. To repeat the immortal words of Colonel Saul Thigh, "I'll tell you the secret to avoid hangovers. Don't stop drinking." America has never been known to stop drinking. 

     We find feeling as old as possible when we wake up to be the most satisfactory way to start a new year, along with new furniture to replace what's been damaged, new trash bags to be filled, new excuses and apologies to be made to our hosts. 

     We have striven in our traditions to pretend like we can dance, to attempt to sing songs both old and new that we do not know the lyrics to, to use kazoo at the only socially accepted time, to make promises we will not keep, to feel better about ourselves because we want to try again. 

And that is the truest form of the American Spirit; to want to change, consider changing, and to stay the same. 

     God bless America and bottoms up. 

-President Paul E. Ticks