Life Gets Outta Hand Sometimes

So I’ve been busy with work and having a newborn and whatnot (side note: Asher is now over a month old!) and have thus been a little out of touch with this here blog. But I thought I’d keep you all abreast of what I’m up to. I’ve got two projects in the mixer right now. The first, which will likely take me years to finish, is going to be a novel about the environmental movement and what I perceive to be its dangers. It is going to be a philosophical-type novel, I think, but with a plotline including a cult, an activist group, a journalist, and an ancient society that never actually existed. Oh, and there will be apocalyptic overtones. The second one is currently one novel/story, but will most likely be the “fun” series that I return to whenever I have time. It’s going to be a fantasy novel/series that combines ancient mythological characters with Biblical theology, so it should be interesting.

Okay, that’s about all I’ve been up to. No new poems or anything (sorry Dan!).

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An Audience

The cat was orange
and pitiful, its mewling
subdued but sharp.
It led me across the road,
its head twisting back
every few steps to make
sure I followed.

It had patches of hairless
scabs like kneepads
on its hindlegs,
and wandered into the ruins
of an old trailer home.
Reddish planks seemed
hung on strings of insulation,
waiting to fall inward
with the slightest shrug of wind.
The cat perched up on a stump beside
the dying hovel.

The poor thing didn’t ask for help,
but with a widow’s pride
licked its paw as if to say:
this is my home, little man.
it’s not much, but I have
the ruling of it.

I laughed to myself
and walked away,
the cat’s eyes like a king’s
watching my departure with solemnity.

Hypostatic Union

The very thinkings of God,
his own logic.
What pressure it must have been
to have the Maker contained

in walls of light pink flesh!
The thrum of blood pulsing
through tissue, vessels, heart –
every cell infused with Heaven’s

ether. What a mystery!
What new mystery is this?
The king requiring diapers
and breast milk,

a toddler in swaddling clothes.
The smell of myrrh to mask
the retchings of horses, cattle;
evidence of biology all around.

How fortunate the Man
refused to vibrate away, but
instead insisted on living the
contradiction: to have the Maker

contained in walls of light pink
flesh. And 30 some-odd years
later: what a whooshing sound
it must have made as he left

his flesh behind,
lower case t holding
Truth and meat
combined.

Homeostasis



What are they to me,
the words of old poets
and dead philosophers,
if the internal constancy
of life maintains itself?

Confucius says:______
but what does it matter
if yin
and yang
must be eternally balanced?

The system is closed ?
Then there is no meaning.
The dog barks.
The flowers bloom.
The sun burns.
The people breathe.
Until the sun burns out
and turns cold and the
Earth dissolves into
particulate nothing
and no amount of
spaceships can save us
but just prolong
the inevitable.

And the galaxy sucks
itself in
– a vortex –
and the universe follows
inward
‘til the spinning
mass becomes a point
so infinitesimal,
so pointless,
and all the weight
of all the worlds
in all the universe
presses in, and
there
is
nothing.
Nothing left to bark or bloom,
Nothing left to burn or breathe,

no one to drive the car