I was brought up pretty well, I think, in terms of having (and keeping) principles and honor and honesty. But my parents failed terribly in one regard: I have horrible eating habits. The stuff I love is, generally speaking, the wrong sort of stuff to be eating, and those wholesome and wonderful foods leave me cold. Some of them, cooked squash or most egg preparations for example, actually induce a gag reflex.
Given a choice between eating a fried (or boiled) egg or being water-boarded, I would have to give the matter some serious thought.
It’s like the old Jack Benny joke about the time he was mugged. “Your money or your life!” cries the mugger. [long pause] “Well?” demands the mugger. “I’m thinking, I’m thinking,” replies Benny.
When it’s 3 AM and the bad moon rises; lunacy.
When darkness and disappointment rip the soul.
When tears no longer wash away the pain.
When anger blots mind with spilled-ink thoughts.
When fear grows tall in cornrows of dismay.
When silence echoes with loss and cost.
When life’s hollows capture rage and regret.
When bone ache of could haves, should haves, weigh heavy.
When angels hide and demons call.
When sorrow seems the guiding star.
When unspoke pleas on deaf ears fall.
When good deeds seem unseen; each misstep marked.
When luck sours; curdled dreams gone; drained.
When words fail; brightness tarnished brass.
When age brings wear and weariness.
When change whips flesh from back; submission.
Branches move in the wind; look!
On the horizon a storm brews.
When love’s a dead ember; coals gone to charcoal.
When hope tastes like ashes and dust.
When you stand alone in the crowd.
When blank faces don’t look back; eyes avoid.
When reaching hands grasp nothing.
When longing overtakes sense and senses.
When empty arms make a cold vacuum.
When heart breaks on lonely shores; beauty lost.
The storm comes.
Winds blow; boughs break.
Lightning cracks; rains come.
The storm passes.
Air cools; breeze blows.
Day dawns; light comes.
Moon Spirits, 4/5