A Day in the Life

05:00

Matthew wakes up, wanders around the house a bit, crawls into bed with me. He thrashes around for 10-15 minutes, then says “I want to get up, Daddy.” This is a bit difficult, as I got hooked on an on-line CME module last night and was up past midnight. (Scored 98% on the exam, though.) We get up, he turns on the TV to the Disney Channel. After about ten minutes he’s had enough (good taste) and hops in my lap to read. We read a couple of books, look at some comics on my computer, then he disappears into the kitchen.

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Flare

From the light of dreams to morning's gloom,
Illuminated by a son, next darkened by a cloud.
A sun-filled ride to a light, supportive room
Then late and lost, lamenting now out loud.

Another flare, the heart is filled and light
Not twenty minutes, why would she grant consent?
For kindness, love, that shining moment's right
Protects this heart against the next descent

Through violent storm, no gentle rain to wash
The wounds, but sharp-edged ice and black and bitter night.
Again, the son, and hose nor mud can quash
The rainbow-joy now running in the light.

As metal tempered by the fire and freeze,
From warm to chill, this soul's harsh destiny
To know indifference, knowing to appease,
Survive, grow strong, for love's eternity

RonRisley – 22 May 2005

On My Rocker

It’s back! After fourteen months at the restorer, I finally have my rocking chair again. A year ago February I sat rocking Matthew on my lap when the chair seemed to dissolve beneath me. I cracked my head on the floor, but Matthew landed on top of me and was unhurt. Even the damage to the chair was less than how it felt — the right side rocker, that had had a makeshift repair long ago, had simply fallen off causing the chair to fall backwards and to the right.

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Vacation

They leave.
Often too soon. They
leave us behind with the
thousand daily sorrows
and joys of our lives.
We speak of their big
things, their public
things, how they made
a small difference for
many or, perhaps, a big
difference for one.
Or two. We remember
smaller things, glances,
words, understandings,
knowledge of presence
even when contact was
deferred for the trivial.
We speak of accomplishments.
We remember stories.

They leave.
Leave spaces in our
world where once they
lived with such vivid
reality that they could
be safely ignored for
great spans of time.
Now those vacated
spaces call to our
longing.

They leave.
We do not grieve
for them but for left
behinds who can but
embrace faith that we
might in some different
eternity fill parts of
one another's worlds 
once again.

RonRisley – 02 May 2005

Literature/Writing 141

A collection of pieces from a 1991 writing course.

What makes experience worth waiting for?

WHAT MAKES experience worth waiting for?
Why not indulge in hedonistic now?
Always, there is an easy open door.
Temptation beckons, there to show us how
To bypass patience, tedium, long tracks,
Achieving simulated wealth and peace:
A fraction of the cost for gilded wax.
Make merry, 'fore we find ourselves deceased!
But will the faux experience ring true
With want forgone, anticipation skipped?
Next year, will memory be there for you
Or will you be by some new fashion gripped?
  For quality through time can resonate,
  Genuine art is thus proved worth the wait

RonRisley – 11 Apr 2005 (revised 17 Apr 2005)

Corporate Personhood

I am skeptical about bumper stickers as an effective form of communication. Can any important social issue be reduced to a message that fits on a 5″ x 12″ sign with type large enough to be read from a distance at highway speeds? It seems as though it is a medium that begs for reductionist thinking and pandering to stereotypes. You can’t really even fit a haiku comfortably on a bumper sticker.

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What Profit, then, in contemplating ends

WHAT PROFIT, then, in contemplating ends
While things begin, at midpoint, at the last?
We know that tricky time just warps and bends
Perceptions of our now, our then, our past.
We celebrate a birth e'en though we know
That fleeting fame leads only to the grave:
But for this life, death would not be a foe
'Tis ends make moments rare enough to save.
Indeed, our moments make eternity,
What matters matters 'twixt myself and thou,
Connects the ancient with modernity:
The only true forever happens now.
  To know that night will fall before too long
  Must not diminish wonder at the dawn

RonRisley – 06 Apr 2005