May you find your own peace..

This morning I see the solar radiance beaming through the dinning room window and casting itself upon me clear into the Great room where I sit at a laptop. My thoughts turn to all those traveling with timetables that are imposable or at least improbable to meet due to the storm that came through Denver this week. What frustration they must feel and at a time of year that begs for peace and tranquility.

We start each new year on a path that we have no idea what it will take us through. We know there will be opportunities and we can be sure there will be obstacles. Often we will have to make our own opportunities out of the landscape around us.

I can look back on 2006 and there are ups and downs to be sure. This new year no doubt will offer more of the same. It is in these last few days of the year that I think all of us, Christian, Jew, Buddhist, Muslim, or nothing at all, can benefit from the pause in the season to take a deep breath, reach for an inner peace, recharge ourselves for the continued journey on your path of life.

It seems especially challenging to imagine a world at peace if we cannot be at peace ourselves. To expect our nation, or city, our own communities to be at peace if we cannot have an atmosphere of peace within our own home.

I am reminded of the words of Albert Canus ~ "We used to wonder where war lived, what it was that made it so vile. And now we realize that we know where it lives...inside ourselves."


May you all find yourselves at peace this holiday season...

Found this link from Ivy / From now on, I shall be known as....

My Peculiar Aristocratic Title is: His Eminence the Very Lord Michael the Lackadaisical of Chipping Sodbury Get your Peculiar Aristocratic Title

Fear and Ignorance

Not pretry related but I must get this off my chest...

Sometimes in a democracy we get lucky and select men and women with the intellect and humility to provide good and thoughtful leadership. Unfortunately this is not always the case, and I am reminded of this by the words of Rep. Virgil H. Goode Jr. - 5th Congressional Dist. of Virginia.

In a letter to his constituents, Congressman Goode said, "When I raise my hand to take the oath on swearing-in day, I will have the Bible in my other hand. I do not subscribe to using the Koran in any way." He adds, "The Muslim representative from Minnesota was elected by the voters of that district and if American citizens don't wake up and adopt the Virgil Goode position on immigration there will likely be many more Muslims elected to office and demanding the use of the Koran." He is of course referring to Congressman elect Keith Ellison. Ellison is the first Muslin elected to Congress.

Goode's letter to his constituents is interesting because it appears to serve only one purpose. To propagate contempt for those of other faiths and nationalities. Such contempt is not surprisingly based upon ignorance. Perhaps both fear and ignorance. They seem to walk hand-in-hand these days.

For starters, Congress is sworn in as a group and no book of religious significance is required. Many will later pose for photo-ops with a book in their hand. Yes a Bible has been used, as well as the Old Testament by some of Jewish faith and The book of Mormon by those of the Mormon faith. I seems rather silly to make such a deal over a prop for a photo-op because that is basically what it amounts to.

Of greater significance to Congressman Goode is the fact that Keith Ellison is Muslin. This is the force driving his fear and hate. He warns that if America is not awaken, more immigrants will come to America and more Muslims will be elected to Congress. The immigrants point here is misrepresented in that Keith Ellison was not an immigrant to the U.S. but a good old American citizen. Imagine that!

It was John F. Kennedy who said, "Tolerance implies no lack of commitment to one's own beliefs. Rather it condemns the oppression or persecution of others." By our tolerance to others, we honor America's commitment to those principals on which this nation was founded. How easy it has become, under the guise of a "War on Terror" to allow ourselves to waver from so many of our basic beliefs as a nation.

I would like to believe that Congressman Goode was simply trying to pander to his constituents. That of course would not excuse his actions, but it is so hard to accept that people will twist Christian principals of tolerance and our own Constitutional principals of equality and religious freedom to fit such a narrow and hateful view.

Nothing to Embrace

Nothing to Embrace

A tin can that rattles of air
A limp sting with no kite
A battle with no one
The war is over

They’ve all gone home.

I’d wring my hands
Of this blank space in time
But how, and where
Would I hang my head?

Wednesday Poet Series No 9

Connie Wanek is the author of two books of poems:

• Bonfire, (New Rivers Press in 1997)
• Hartley Field, (Holy Cow! Press in 2002)

She was anthologized in Poets Against The War. Her work has also appeared in The Atlantic Monthly, The Virginia Quarterly Review, Quarterly West, and a number of other venues.

She she was born in 1952 in Madison, Wisconsin and has received fellowships and support from the Arrowhead Regional Arts Council and The Jerome Foundation. She's been a finalist for both the Minnesota Book Award and the Northeastern Minnesota Book Award and won the 1998 Willow Poetry Prize.

In the early 1060's her family relocated from Wisconsin farming to Las Cruces, New Mexico. In 1990, she took residence in Duluth, Minnesota she lives with her husband and two children.

The first poem of Waneck's I read was Coloring Book . The paper is cheap, easily torn. / A coloring book's authority is derived / from its heavy black lines / as unalterable as the ten commandments / within which minor decisions are possible: / the dog black and white, / the kitten gray. I loved the authority of the black lines she ascribed to the page.

In Butter she denotes a commonality between butter and love. And I love the line: Will the rope never strike her ankle, / love's bite? from Jump Rope so much to decide... Whom will she marry? Whom will she love?

More of Wanek's Poetry: After Us Two Poems: Children Near The Water & Daisies

Radiator

22 Lines

Busy weekend with family gathering on Saturday and Sunday I spent most of the day at my wife's office helping rearrange things. I did carve out a little bit of time to read some poetry over the weekend and did write a bit, even if it wasn't a great deal.

The sky was a beautiful filtered pink glow when I left for work this morning. Looks like it could turn out to be a nice day outside even though the morning started out a bit chilly.

Found a deliciously interesting article on Donald Hall I wanted to share. There were several things I found fascinating but among them was reference to a poem of Hall's that appeared in the Nov. 13th New Yorker under what now seems a somewhat ambiguous title, Maples. Mike Pride reports in this article that the poem condenses Hall's nearly entire 78 year lifespan into these 22 lines and at the same time providing an insight to the themes of his life's work in poetry: decline & loss, place, nature, mankind's addiction to wanton destruction. Read the piece here.

Multi-form success

Was reading this on Margaret Atwood that I found on Jilly's blog and got quite a kick out of the following line... "I think I'm this way because I never went to creative writing school and nobody told me not to. Nobody said, 'You have to specialize,' or 'For heaven's sake, control yourself.' " She was talking about the fact that she has been published in so many forms...poetry, short stories, children's literature, thrillers, a romance, criticism, even science fiction. I've only read Atwood poetry, but I admire the versatility as a writer. Especially since I find her poetry to be very agreeable to my taste, I don't get the feeling that she is simply a half-assed writer in a variety of areas. Am I envious? Not especially. I am myself content to better myself in poetry, but I am none the less impressed with her success outside of the form.

~0~

Voices behind bars... Poetry in Prison. [story]