The Aftermath

The tires squeal,
the windshield pop,
with crunching metal,
the traffic cop

Said no one is
at fault, you see.
So now you are
back home with me.

When first I heard
about the crash,
I saw your life
pass in a flash.

In every scene
where you were there
a floral fragrance
filled the air.

SMD
8.4.2012

Meditation on a Roadkill Squirrel

I ran over a squirrel today

It took me totally by surprise
all I saw was a brief movement
in
the
corner
of my right eye

I think I saw the tail of
the squirrel as it ran headlong
into
the
street
and the path of my car

The sensation of the right tire
rolling over something was
the
next
thing
that I experienced.

I was still so taken aback by this
squirrel's behavior that I slowed down
and
peered
into
the rear view mirror

I wanted to see if there were any
little brown bodies on the road behind me
I
guess
the
squirrel was on drugs

SMD
6.22.2012

Poetry Review: I Wandered Lonely As A Cloud

 Annunciation Catholic Church in Houston, Texas.  The scaffolding covers the steeple, which is undergoing some needed repairs.

I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud, by William Wordsworth

I WANDERED lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o'er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the milky way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:                                  10
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed--and gazed--but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,                               20
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.
                                                              1804.

It is Summer time in Texas.  Well, let me qualify that.  For most Texans, Summer starts when school ends.  But for us Homeschool types, school never ends.  I actually think that doing school throughout the Summer, sitting in the air conditioning is a good thing for our children.  Let them go out in the morning or the evening, when the temperatures are milder. 

The poem above is one of those things which one of the Noisykids has to analyze today.  I figured that I could review it on the blog, since I had to read the poem, read my son's analysis of it, and then critique his writing.  It is all good, since the way to become a writer is to write, and to review other people's writing.  It goes along with this quote, which really struck me:

 

"Fifteen years from now, after you have mastered your craft, you will yearn to return to the things that most fascinated you when you were undergraduates."

- Anonymous Law School Professor


Yep.  Carolyn has never asked me to whisper medical facts in her ear when she is feeling romantic.  Seriously, though, I really enjoyed the few literature classes I took, and consider reading and writing to be a great avocation.

First, let us look at the anatomy of the poem:

1.  Twenty-four lines, broken into four stanzas. 

2.  Each line consists of 8 syllables.  There are a couple of lines where there are actually 9 syllables, but one could slur the words to make it more like 8 syllables.  Look at lines 6 and 7.  If one skipped the second syllable in 'fluttering' and pronounced it 'flut-RING,' or pronounced 'continuous' as 'contin-yoose,' the 8-syllable rule is observed.

          Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

          Continuous as the stars that shine

I have a thing for syllables, because I like writing Haiku poems, and there one has to watch that the syllables don't go over the limit.


3.  The rhyme pattern is A-B-A-B-C-C, where the first line of each stanza rhymes with the third, and the second and fourth rhyme with each other.  The final two lines in each stanza form a separate couplet.  There are no rhymes which connect any of the stanzas.

4.  The only symmetry in the poem is that the poet starts out by looking at the daffodils, and ends up recalling the pleasure that came with seeing the flowers. 

So, What does the poem say?

In the first stanza, the poet discovers a field full of daffodils.  The title and first line of the poem imply that the writer was sad and feeling very lonely when he encountered the flowers.  In the next two stanzas, he describes the flowers as numerous as the stars in the sky, and as dancers on the shore of the lake.  He ends the third stanza by commenting that he did not appreciate just how much gladness came from seeing the daffodils.  In the fourth stanza, he writes how his memory of the daffodils fills his heart with joy and consolation when he is sad.

By the way, for those of you who wondered, jocund means cheerful, merry, glad.  Try to use it in a sentence today.

What does this poem mean to me?

This poem reflects my own experience, which automatically makes it a good poem.  All of us have past experiences which we recall with joy.  In Wordsworth's poem, he saw a field of daffodils alongside a lake.  For me, there are many memories which can bring back such happiness that they may brighten any difficult or sad time.  All of us have pleasant memories which can bring a smile to our face, even those which seemed trivial at the time.  William Wordsworth has shared this thought with us in just a few lines of simple poetry.

Good Poetry: The Hound of Heaven, by Francis Thompson

I FLED Him, down the nights and down the days;
I fled Him, down the arches of the years;
I fled Him, down the labyrinthine ways
Of my own mind; and in the mist of tears
I hid from Him, and under running laughter.
Up vistaed hopes I sped;
And shot, precipitated,
Adown Titanic glooms of chasmèd fears,
From those strong Feet that followed, followed after.
But with unhurrying chase,
And unperturbèd pace,
Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
They beat—and a Voice beat
More instant than the Feet—
‘All things betray thee, who betrayest Me.’
 
          I pleaded, outlaw-wise,
By many a hearted casement, curtained red,
  Trellised with intertwining charities;
(For, though I knew His love Who followèd,
        Yet was I sore adread
Lest, having Him, I must have naught beside).
But, if one little casement parted wide,
  The gust of His approach would clash it to.
  Fear wist not to evade, as Love wist to pursue.
Across the margent of the world I fled,
  And troubled the gold gateways of the stars,
  Smiting for shelter on their clangèd bars;
        Fretted to dulcet jars
And silvern chatter the pale ports o’ the moon.
I said to Dawn: Be sudden—to Eve: Be soon;
  With thy young skiey blossoms heap me over
        From this tremendous Lover—
Float thy vague veil about me, lest He see!
  I tempted all His servitors, but to find
My own betrayal in their constancy,
In faith to Him their fickleness to me,
  Their traitorous trueness, and their loyal deceit.
To all swift things for swiftness did I sue;
  Clung to the whistling mane of every wind.
      But whether they swept, smoothly fleet,
    The long savannahs of the blue;
        Or whether, Thunder-driven,
    They clanged his chariot ’thwart a heaven,
Plashy with flying lightnings round the spurn o’ their feet:—
  Fear wist not to evade as Love wist to pursue.
      Still with unhurrying chase,
      And unperturbèd pace,
    Deliberate speed, majestic instancy,
      Came on the following Feet,
      And a Voice above their beat—
    ‘Naught shelters thee, who wilt not shelter Me.’
 
I sought no more that after which I strayed
  In face of man or maid;
But still within the little children’s eyes
  Seems something, something that replies,
They at least are for me, surely for me!
I turned me to them very wistfully;
But just as their young eyes grew sudden fair
  With dawning answers there,
Their angel plucked them from me by the hair.
‘Come then, ye other children, Nature’s—share
With me’ (said I) ‘your delicate fellowship;
  Let me greet you lip to lip,
  Let me twine with you caresses,
    Wantoning
  With our Lady-Mother’s vagrant tresses,
    Banqueting
  With her in her wind-walled palace,
  Underneath her azured daïs,
  Quaffing, as your taintless way is,
    From a chalice
Lucent-weeping out of the dayspring.’
    So it was done:
I in their delicate fellowship was one—
Drew the bolt of Nature’s secrecies.
  I knew all the swift importings
  On the wilful face of skies;
  I knew how the clouds arise
  Spumèd of the wild sea-snortings;
    All that’s born or dies
  Rose and drooped with; made them shapers
Of mine own moods, or wailful or divine;
  With them joyed and was bereaven.
  I was heavy with the even,
  When she lit her glimmering tapers
  Round the day’s dead sanctities.
  I laughed in the morning’s eyes.
I triumphed and I saddened with all weather,
  Heaven and I wept together,
And its sweet tears were salt with mortal mine;
Against the red throb of its sunset-heart
    I laid my own to beat,
    And share commingling heat;
But not by that, by that, was eased my human smart.
In vain my tears were wet on Heaven’s grey cheek.
For ah! we know not what each other says,
  These things and I; in sound I speak—
Their sound is but their stir, they speak by silences.
Nature, poor stepdame, cannot slake my drouth;
  Let her, if she would owe me,
Drop yon blue bosom-veil of sky, and show me
  The breasts o’ her tenderness:
Never did any milk of hers once bless
    My thirsting mouth.
    Nigh and nigh draws the chase,
    With unperturbèd pace,
  Deliberate speed, majestic instancy;
    And past those noisèd Feet
    A voice comes yet more fleet—
  ‘Lo! naught contents thee, who content’st not Me!’

Naked I wait Thy love’s uplifted stroke!
My harness piece by piece Thou hast hewn from me,
    And smitten me to my knee;
  I am defenceless utterly.
  I slept, methinks, and woke,
And, slowly gazing, find me stripped in sleep.
In the rash lustihead of my young powers,
  I shook the pillaring hours
And pulled my life upon me; grimed with smears,
I stand amid the dust o’ the mounded years—
My mangled youth lies dead beneath the heap.
My days have crackled and gone up in smoke,
Have puffed and burst as sun-starts on a stream.
  Yea, faileth now even dream
The dreamer, and the lute the lutanist;
Even the linked fantasies, in whose blossomy twist
I swung the earth a trinket at my wrist,
Are yielding; cords of all too weak account
For earth with heavy griefs so overplussed.
  Ah! is Thy love indeed
A weed, albeit an amaranthine weed,
Suffering no flowers except its own to mount?
  Ah! must—
  Designer infinite!—
Ah! must Thou char the wood ere Thou canst limn with it?
My freshness spent its wavering shower i’ the dust;
And now my heart is as a broken fount,
Wherein tear-drippings stagnate, spilt down ever
  From the dank thoughts that shiver
Upon the sighful branches of my mind.
  Such is; what is to be?
The pulp so bitter, how shall taste the rind?
I dimly guess what Time in mists confounds;
Yet ever and anon a trumpet sounds
From the hid battlements of Eternity;
Those shaken mists a space unsettle, then
Round the half-glimpsèd turrets slowly wash again.
  But not ere him who summoneth
  I first have seen, enwound
With glooming robes purpureal, cypress-crowned;
His name I know, and what his trumpet saith.
Whether man’s heart or life it be which yields
  Thee harvest, must Thy harvest-fields
  Be dunged with rotten death?
 
      Now of that long pursuit
    Comes on at hand the bruit;
  That Voice is round me like a bursting sea:
    ‘And is thy earth so marred,
    Shattered in shard on shard?
  Lo, all things fly thee, for thou fliest Me!
  Strange, piteous, futile thing!
Wherefore should any set thee love apart?
Seeing none but I makes much of naught’ (He said),
‘And human love needs human meriting:
  How hast thou merited—
Of all man’s clotted clay the dingiest clot?
  Alack, thou knowest not
How little worthy of any love thou art!
Whom wilt thou find to love ignoble thee,
  Save Me, save only Me?
All which I took from thee I did but take,
  Not for thy harms,
But just that thou might’st seek it in My arms.
  All which thy child’s mistake
Fancies as lost, I have stored for thee at home:
  Rise, clasp My hand, and come!’
  Halts by me that footfall:
  Is my gloom, after all,
Shade of His hand, outstretched caressingly?
  ‘Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest,
  I am He Whom thou seekest!
Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest Me.’

Windows Humor in Haiku

I have been reading a bit of poetry lately; hopefully I shall review the book I am reading in the next day or two. Tonight, however, I was reminded of some haikus which make fun of the Windows operating systems. These haikus were written to replace the more mundane error messages one would see frequently on a computer. Please understand that these are not my own poems.

I found them at this location. Enjoy:


Three things are certain:
Death, taxes, and lost data.
Guess which has occurred.
- - - - - - - - - - - -

Windows NT crashed.
I am the Blue Screen of Death.
No one hears your screams.
- - - - - - - - - - - -

Seeing my great fault
Through darkening blue windows
I begin again
- - - - - - - - - - - -

The code was willing,
It considered your request,
But the chips were weak.
- - - - - - - - - - - -

Printer not ready.
Could be a fatal error.
Have a pen handy?
- - - - - - - - - - - -

A file that big?
It might be very useful.
But now it is gone.
- - - - - - - - - - - -

Errors have occurred.
We won't tell you where or why.
Lazy programmers.
- - - - - - - - - - - -

Server's poor response
Not quick enough for browser.
Timed out, plum blossom.
- - - - - - - - - - - -

Chaos reigns within.
Reflect, repent, and reboot.
Order shall return.
- - - - - - - - - - - -

Login incorrect.
Only perfect spellers may
enter this system.
- - - - - - - - - - - -

This site has been moved.
We'd tell you where, but then we'd
have to delete you.
- - - - - - - - - - - -

Wind catches lily
scattering fragrant petals:
segmentation fault
- - - - - - - - - - - -

ABORTED effort:
Close all that you have.
You ask way too much.
- - - - - - - - - - - -

First snow, then silence.
This thousand dollar screen dies
so beautifully.
- - - - - - - - - - - -

With searching comes loss
and the presence of absence:
"My Novel" not found.
- - - - - - - - - - - -

The Tao that is seen
Is not the true Tao, until
You bring fresh toner.
- - - - - - - - - - - -

The Web site you seek
cannot be located but
endless others exist
- - - - - - - - - - - -

Stay the patient course
Of little worth is your ire
The network is down
- - - - - - - - - - - -

A crash reduces
your expensive computer
to a simple stone.
- - - - - - - - - - - -

There is a chasm
of carbon and silicon
the software can't bridge
- - - - - - - - - - - -

Yesterday it worked
Today it is not working
Windows is like that
- - - - - - - - - - - -

No keyboard present
Hit F1 to continue
Zen engineering?
- - - - - - - - - - - -

Out of memory.
We wish to hold the whole sky,
But we never will.
- - - - - - - - - - - -

Having been erased,
The document you're seeking
Must now be retyped.
- - - - - - - - - - - -

The ten thousand things
How long do any persist?
Netscape, too, has gone.
- - - - - - - - - - - -

Rather than a beep
Or a rude error message,
These words: "File not found."
- - - - - - - - - - - -

Serious error.
All shortcuts have disappeared
Screen. Mind. Both are blank.

To have no errors
Would be life without meaning
No struggle, no joy
- - - - - - - - - - - -

You step in the stream,
but the water has moved on.
This page is not here.
- - - - - - - - - - - -


I hope you have enjoyed these haikus. For those of you who do not know, the portrait at the beginning of this entry is Basho, a famous poet whose specialty was the haiku. The woman below is Amanda McKittrick Ros, another poet whose claim to fame was writing some of the worst poetry and prose known to man. These two are my inspiration to continue to write poetry, for if I cannot write good poetry, I can at least compose really bad poetry.

Look Who Is Expecting!

When you wish for a Mustang,
donate baby clothes,
plan a cruise to Alaska,
what do you suppose?

God gives you a sign,
for you and your wife
at the end of a chapter
(you thought) of your life



Where once you expected
a minus, a dot
you see a small 'plus' sign,
'Not Pregnant' less 'Not'

Instead of the end
to a chapter of life
God adds to the blessings
for you and your wife.

SMD
10.3.2010


It sounds like bad poetry because it IS bad poetry. But is is also true. God has blessed us again; this is the 16th pregnancy for Carolyn. We are still amazed that God has smiled on us and granted us this blessing. We thank God for this child - whether he or she lives for a few weeks in utero, fifteen years, or long enough to bury us - we cannot stop thanking God for this tremendous blessing!

Please pray for Carolyn and our unborn child.


ADDENDUM: Sadly, Carolyn suffered a miscarriage shortly after I posted this entry. I have another note regarding this at THIS site.

Book Reviews and Bad Poetry Collide

I found a way to combine my love for literature with my penchant for really bad poetry, in particular that poetry form which was perfected by Basho.

I speak of the beloved Haiku.

Inspired by Basho as well as Amanda McKittrick Ros, and wanting to give some review of the books I read, and not having a lot of time, I present you with the first installment of something I shall call Haiku Review.

Today's blog entry will consist of reviews of:

1. Pride and Prejudice, by Jane Austen

2. In the Heart of the Sea: The Tragedy of the Whaleship Essex

3. Anesthesia For Patients Too Sick For Anesthesia(Anesthesiology Clinics), edited by Benjamin Kohl, M.D.

Here is the review of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice:

Haiku Review:

Rich guy named Darcy

snobbish and shy around girls

gets favorite daughter

SMD

6.30.2010

A brief review of Mr. Philbrick's book:

Haiku review:

Whale kicks human butt

forcing them to row for land

crew provides the meal

SMD

6.29.2010

The medical review:

Haiku Review:

My first guess

of contents would be

cancel, cancel, cancel!

SMD

6.29.2010

These reviews can be seen on LibraryThing.

Bad Poetry About Someone's Birthday

Taken Seriously

Watching you from the back of the chapel
kneeling at the communion rail
I consider what a gift you are to me
straight from the hand of God

Recalling the teenage girl I used to tease
until one day you grew tired of my sport
and asked when I would ever take you
Seriously

the time my brother and I serenaded you
with ‘Sweet Caroline’ as we rowed across the lake
and the fear in my heart when you almost
fell off the roof of that parking garage

a kiss under the mistletoe, then
while dancing at someone else’s wedding
the whispered reminder that you love me
no matter where I roamed

the microscopic diamond, the even smaller
efficiency we lived in
with hard work, separation, books
and a promise as our first roommates

rejoicing with the birth of thirteen children
and mourning the other two who never made it
and the one who died suddenly
in my arms

wishing I were as generous as you
have been in our life
knowing that I could never give enough
in return to show my love for you

with broken cookie bouquets and
edible arrangements which made better compost
roses from Costco bought on impulse
to make up for years without flowers

Thanking God and you for remaining
through joys and sorrows of our life together
I think you knew what you were asking for
when you asked me to take you Seriously.


SMD
5.25.2010

Repost: Reason For His Absence

Originally posted on March 18, 2007:

Reason for his absence

The Death of Saint Joseph, from this site:


"In God's Providence it makes no sense

why some of us live and some must die."

He never said a word to us as he went through his life.
He left that to the other folks, especially his wife.

His actions, a model for the married man's vocation:
keep still, work hard, love the wife, silence is your salvation.

His role in this life was to guard the greatest things on earth:
his beloved wife and Child - Jesus of the Virgin Birth.

He cared so well for his loved ones without a hint of pride,
perhaps that's why he died before his son was crucified.

For no father would just stand by and watch his son in pain,
no man could stand the sight of a beloved being slain.

For sure he would have been old and gray, wrinkled face and hand,
but years of toil and sacrifice still edified the man.

For him the thought of flight was wrong unless he had his son.
Then all Gethsemane could get to see an old man run.

The hands that once wielded wood and hammer, saw, plane and ax,
Would have not hung limp, as the soldiers scourged his child's back.

His voice would ring out loud and clear as one above the din,
while all the world ungratefully thundered "crucify him!"

The path He took to Golgotha, to Calvary, the skull,
would have been blocked by his father, although the road was full.

At the cross the carpenter would not have remained so calm
to see his precious child take a nail in every palm.

None of these things ever happened, I dare to venture why:
Heavenly Father knew Joseph would not let Jesus die

For no father would just stand by and watch his son in pain,
No man could stand the sight of a beloved being slain.

But this Man was the Son of God, and died on Calvary,
through His Passion and His Death sent here to set us all free.

SMD

3.18.2007

A Bit Of Moderation, Some Song Lyrics, and an Environmental Update

Some Things in Moderation


Recently I started moderating comments on my blog after I noticed the same comment appearing on my blog. The comment was always written in characters which looked like Japanese, Chinese, or Korean characters, and they always included a link to another web page. The comment was also usually posted while most of us 'U.S.-Americans' were fast asleep, dreaming of new ways to conserve energy and make this a greener planet.

As you can imagine, the link was to a place which is not on the required reading list or recommended list for any man or woman of good will.

So, for the foreseeable future I shall moderate all comments before letting them loose on the blogosphere. I did consider making the blog a 'subscriber-only' blog, but that would mean that the two biggest readers of the blog - Carolyn and I - would have to sign in before reading my own work. Too much hassle.

The 'Default Picture Walrus' is debuting tonight as the 'Train of Thought Break' icon. Let me know what you think of him in this expanded role.


New Lyrics to an Old Song

- with apologies to Pete Seeger

I wrote these some time before our last presidential election. A discussion of the lyrics can be found in the original post located here.

This song is sung to the tune, 'Where have All the Flowers Gone?'

Sit back, tune in, turn on, and drop out:

Where Have Barry's Exes Gone?

Where have Barry's 'Exes' gone?

Are they hiding?

Where have Barry's 'Exes' gone?

I'd like to know

Where have Barry's 'Exes' gone?

Even geeks like me had some

That's what I'd like to learn

That's what I'd like to learn

Where have Barry's classmates gone?

Back at Harvard

Where have Barry's classmates gone?

I'd like to know

Where have Barry's classmates gone?

They could tell about someone

That's what I'd like to learn

That's what I'd like to learn

Where did Barry enter Earth?

In the U.S.A?

Where did Barry enter Earth?

Or somewhere else

Where did Barry enter Earth?

Check 'Certificate of Live Birth'

That's what I'd like to learn

That's what I'd like to learn

Name one thing that Barry's done

In the Senate

Name one thing that Barry's done

I'd like to know

Name one thing that Barry's done

[just hum the tune here....]

That's what I thought I'd learn

That's what I thought I'd learn

What's the one thing Barry's done?

Through this campaign

What's the one thing Barry's done?

To earn our trust

What's the one thing Barry's done?

He's deceived most everyone

When will we ever learn?

When will we ever learn?

Environmental Update

The Spotted Owl.

Have you already forgotten the Spotted Owl?

I had, until I fortunately was waiting in a doctor's office(yes, even doctors have to wait for other doctors) and spotted(no pun intended) some liberal rag which was decrying the impending extinction of said owl in the woodlands of the Northwest United States. If memory serves me correctly, this bird was the cause of limitations put on harvesting lumber in the Pacific Northwest because the large trees were the preferred nesting sites for these winged critters.

Owls, 1. Loggers, 0.

Now it turns out that another type of owl, the Barred Owl, has moved into the same area and has systematically wiped out the poor little spotted owl. The defenders of the spotted owl, those who fought the loggers for the life of an owl, now plan on hunting the Barred Owl.

It seems as if the law of the 'survival of the fittest' has come into play here, with the stronger animal succeeding the weaker one. We shall keep an eye on this story as it develops.

The Shortest Distance/Laureate

The Shortest Distance

Start left on
Pennsylvania
Eighth Street North

Thirty East
Two Eighty Seven
Eight twenty

Twenty East
Sixty Seven South
Windroot South

Midland East
Up the long driveway
into your arms.






Laureate

Perhaps one day for
your first inauguration
I recite poem





SMD
2.22.2010

Bad Poetry About Flowers

Not Enough Flowers

There aren't enough flowers in the world
to give to you

for all the times I was a jerk
and you were sweet anyways

for all the times you made me smile
and made our home Heaven on Earth

for every sacrifice you made
and every child you gave me

and every other thing you have done
that makes me thank God for you.



SMD
1.8.2010

3:16 Haiku

3:16 Haiku

All you need
is all I can give
love and prayers

SMD
10.16.2009

Saturday Night Mortification

1. The First Pointless Video:

Let's start this bit of blog mortification with a video. I took a road trip with a few of my sons, and the Aardvark was our ride. Enjoy, with music by The Verve:



Remember, If you take care of the Aardvark, she will take care of you!

2. Writer's Block, or Cramps:

I have not written much lately; rather, I have been writing a lot of stuff. Unfortunately, none of it can be published, especially not here. Another reason to not write so much is that the 'official' home school year has started, and I am trying to become more than just the principal of our home school. This year I am going to be more active in the formation of my high school children.

This will certainly cut into the navel-gazing time which has produced some of the entries which you have had to read over the past three years.


I was blessed with a few days off, and I spent some of that time praying and writing in front of the Blessed Sacrament. This was a tremendous grace, and has become something which I have lately grown to cherish more and more. Perhaps one day I shall have the same kind of love for Our Lord as that of the old man from Ars, who used to sit in the chapel every day. St. Jean-Marie Vianney asked him what he was doing, and he replied,

"I just look at Him, and He looks back at me."

But that's not what I came to talk about here. Yesterday, I had to be stuck somewhere for about two hours, so I took along a book to write down some serious bad poetry. Three things had been rattling around in my creative writing part of the brain, and I wanted to try to pin them down on paper, like a monarch butterfly or some other large insect, for all the world to see. One of the ideas was about a line from Pope John Paul II's encyclical Familiaris Consortio which applies to the role of the family in the modern world. Another idea was inspired by the release of Abdelbaset Ali Mohmed Al Megrahi, the man who was part of the plot which brought that aircraft down over Lockerbie, Scotland; the poem would contrast the reception of the victims and the terrorist when they all returned to earth. The third idea had to do with an observation I made about social mobility in the Dallas/Fort Worth area.

Only one of these poems solidified enough to print, and here comes that mortification I warned you about. Of course, it is in the form of a 5-7-5 haiku:

Midlothian girls
desire metamorphosis
to Plano women

SMD
9.12.2009

3. The Green Belt - The Wall

Taekwon Do has been neglected this summer, mainly because this is the busy season for a pediatric anesthesiologist. Elective procedures are scheduled for when school is off, and those children who aren't planning a trip to the hospital find another way to get admitted - usually doing something stupid, or something involving monkey bars. I have missed many classes this summer. Therefore, when I have been able to make it to class, I have noticed the instructor shaking his head as he watches me muddle through 'Do San.' Invariably, the other Black Belt instructors will end up running through the pattern with me. I sweat a lot.

What I really need is to practice more, and time has become too valuable a commodity for me to spend it on Taekwon Do. This has brought me to an impasse: if I am to go on with Taekwon Do, I have to make a commitment to spend more time learning the patterns, the sparring, and the self defense moves. What I need is to make that internal commitment to devote more time and effort to this activity. This man featured in the video below had to face this same problem, and he gives me some hope and inspiration:




....the second pointless video.

Of course, some of the Noisykids have no problem finding time to practice for Taekwon Do. In fact, they are forging ahead into areas I shall never reach:



Breathing is an integral part to martial arts, especially Taekwon Do, and that is why the children are using noisemakers to ensure that they exhale at the proper moment of each move.

4. You Jane, Me Amused!

I am really enjoying Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. I am reading these books because my wife and daughters are into them, including watching the movie versions which are available on DVD. It appears as if there are more movie versions of Pride and Prejudice than there are of Beau Geste. I am enjoying the book so much that if we are blessed with another child, I want to name him or her after my favorite character. If we have a boy, I shall name him FitzWilliam Darcy; if we have a girl, I shall name her Darcy FitzWilliam.

I hope we have a girl, because then her initials would be the same as those of the Dallas/Fort Worth Metroplex: DFW.

Alas, we are not with child at this moment. I beg of you to storm Heaven with prayers that He will bless us with more children.

Thank you and good night.

A Prayer, a Project, a Personal Message to Someone in England, and a Poem

First, a bit of Bad Poetry.

Texas freeways have electronic signs to inform drivers of traffic conditions, missing persons, and my favorite, 'Testing.' Lately things have been quiet on the roads I frequent, so the Department of Public Safety has made an effort to appeal to the reader to remain sober when behind the wheel. This advice is lost on me, because I can barely keep myself awake after just one or two sips of an alcoholic beverage. What was not lost on me is that the roadside signs are a great opportunity for an author to write one of my favorite types of poetry: the 3-5-3 Haiku.

Texas DPS almost has it with this message I saw today:

DRUNK DRIVING
OVER THE LIMIT
UNDER ARREST

The OVER/UNDER contrast is beautiful, but makes the last line exceed the limit of three syllables. My own rewrite sounds lame in comparison:

DRUNK DRIVING
OVER THE LIMIT
GO TO JAIL

Perhaps this will be better; at least it fits on the electronic board, and is has a sort of visceral punch to the ending:

A DRIVER
INTOXICATED
GONNA DIE






Enough of that....on to the Project:

Years ago, I read all of the Hobbitt/Lord of the Ring books so that I would know what my oldest son was reading. Now it is time to get in touch with the feminine side of the literary works in our house. Yes, I am starting to read Jane Austen. I am starting with 'Pride and Prejudice;' I even brought it to the hospital with me a few days ago, but never had a chance to touch the book.

I shall have to write some sort of review after I finish the book.




To Someone In England - and the Dallas/Fort Worth Area:

Thank you for what you have done.

I know you have struggled for a long time to make the decision you have made, and right now I am sure that you think that your life will be harder for it. Believe me when I tell you that it will be, and the world will look down upon you because of what you have decided. The world no longer holds the title 'Wife and Mother' in the highest esteem which it deserves. But to those whom you serve; namely, your husband and your children, the precious gift of yourself is one which is priceless in this world.

I cannot tell you how happy I was knowing that my wife was home, caring for my children and waiting for me, while I was away so much and so often.

God bless you, Someone in England, and God bless you, Wifeofdadwithnoisykids!



And last, the Prayer.

This prayer was recited by my brother after his private Mass recently. One of my sons and I were graced with the privilege of serving at his Mass. While we were making our thanksgiving, Father recited this prayer. It is one which should be recited by more than just priests, and so for that reason I wish to add it to the list of the '1,000 Prayers You Should Say Before You Die.'

Thanksgiving After Communion (St. Thomas Aquinas)

I give Thee thanks, O holy Lord, Father Almighty, Eternal God, that Thou hast vouchsafed,
for no merit of my own,but of the mere condescension of Thy mercy, to satisfy me, a sinner
and Thine unworthy servant, with the Precious Blood of Thy Son our Lord Jesus Christ.

I implore Thee, let not this Holy Communion be to me an increase of guilt unto my punishment,

but an availing plea unto pardon and forgiveness.

Let it be to me the armor of faith and the shield of good will.

Grant that it may work the extinction of my vices, the rooting out of concupiscence and lust,

and the increase within me of charity and patience, of humility and obedience.

Let it be my strong defense against the snares of all my enemies, visible and invisible;

the stilling and the calm of all my impulses, carnal and spiritual; my indissoluble union with

Thee the one and true God, and a blessed consummation at my last end.

And I beseech thee that Thou wouldst vouchsafe to bring me, sinner as I am, to that

ineffable banquet where Thou, with the Son and the Holy Ghost, art to Thy saints true and unfailing light,

fullness and content, joy for evermore, gladness without alloy, consummate and everlasting bliss.

Through the same Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Bonfire

First, we made a pile of brush.

This took more than a year; in fact, some of the wood in this pile was cut when we were building the house back in 2003. One pile of wood was left near our neighbor's house, so we had to haul that pile onto the back part of our property so we wouldn't smoke Mr. and Mrs. L. out.

The rest of the wood was collected from various projects on our land, from one end to the other.

Then I waited for the right time. Since this pile was completed in the Summer of 2008, I planned on burning it during the rainy season, some time in November, in North Texas. God had other plans, since we did not have much rain for the remainder of 2008 up until this March. I had to wait for the burn ban to lift.

I also wanted to burn this pile on a day when I had no other obligations(i.e., no call), and the weather consisted of drizzles with not much wind. So after a late start on mowing the grass, we got rained out, and that is when the boys started pushing for a bonfire. I am a pushover for setting things on fire.

To be on the safe side, I called the sheriff's office to verify that the burn ban was lifted. Not only was it lifted, but the nice lady on the phone took my name and number so they could reassure anyone who called to report a fire that it was just a bunch of right wing nut jobs clinging to their guns and religion. More importantly, they would not send the fire/rescue folks unless I called them.

This is probably far more information than you wanted to read about a bonfire in North Texas. So, without further ado, here are three videos of the brush pile/bonfire:




Then today, between torrents of rain, we set fire to said brush pile:



Within a short time, the pile was reduced to coals, which would have been great for a barbecue. All of us were standing around the fire at 3 o'clock, so Max led the Chaplet of Divine Mercy.



When the fire was reduced to a pile about two feet tall and five feet in diameter, the heavens opened up and soaked us(and the fire). It was as if God was telling us that we had had enough fun for the day and it was time to make dinner.

Some of you might think that a better way to eradicate this pile of wood should have been used. I did think about that, and I came to the conclusion that this was the best way to minimize the ecological impact of clearing the brush. Any other way, be it shredding or carting it away, would have used up far more gasoline than what was used here; besides, moving the pile would have just made it someone else's problem.

Now to go hug some trees....


The fire inspired me to write some bad poetry. What could be more romantic than a brush fire in your back yard, and a Haiku to go along with the occasion? Basho would be proud. Read on:

Like this here bonfire
I am consumed with a love
for you, not Haiku.

SMD
5.2.2009

Burning Love

Enkindle my heart
with love for Thy Heart alone
never to die out.

SMD
5.2.2009

First Lady of Bad Poetry

I found this at work, and must present it to the world.

Amanda McKittrick Ros will always be my 'patron saint' for my Bad Poetry section of this blog. She has inspired me to write some of the most awful poems ever found on the blogosphere, but I know that my works pale in comparison to her contributions to English Literature:


"She tried hard to keep herself a stranger to her poor old father's slight income by the use of the finest production of steel, whose blunt edge eyed the reely covering with marked greed, and offered its sharp dart to faultless fabrics of flaxen fineness."

I strive daily to one day attain even a slight fraction of her poetric greatness.

But after January 20th, there is a new poet in my life. This new poet breathes a fresh breeze upon my stale and weakened poetical attempts.

Her name is Elizabeth Alexander.

I shall never forget where I was when I first heard her voice, playing out in forceful cadence one of the most beautiful auditory works of art I had ever experienced. It took all my strength of will to tear myself from the radio, and leave the car to echo with the words so beautifully spoken:

Praise Song For The Day

Each day we go about our business,

walking past each other,

catching each others' eyes

or not,

about to speak or speaking.

All about us is noise.

All about us is noise and bramble,

thorn and din,

each one of our ancestors on our tongues.

Someone is stitching up a hem,

darning a hole in a uniform,

patching a tire,

repairing the things in need of repair.

Someone is trying to make music somewhere with a pair of wooden spoons on an oil drum with cello, boom box, harmonica, voice.

A woman and her son wait for the bus.

A farmer considers the changing sky.

A teacher says, "Take out your pencils. Begin."
We encounter each other in words,

words spiny or smooth,

whispered or declaimed;

words to consider, reconsider.

We cross dirt roads and highways that mark the will of someone and then others who said, "I need to see what's on the other side; I know there's something better down the road."

We need to find a place where we are safe;

we walk into that which we cannot yet see.
Say it plain,

that many have died for this day.

Sing the names of the dead who brought us here,

who laid the train tracks,

raised the bridges,

picked the cotton and the lettuce,

built brick by brick the glittering edifices they would then keep clean and work inside of.

Praise song for struggle;

praise song for the day.

Praise song for every hand-lettered sign,

the figuring it out at kitchen tables.
Some live by "Love thy neighbor as thy self."

Others by "First do no harm,"

or "Take no more than you need."

What if the mightiest word is love,

love beyond marital,

filial,

national.

Love that casts a widening pool of light.

Love with no need to preempt grievance.

In today's sharp sparkle,

this winter air,

anything can be made,

any sentence begun.

On the brink,

on the brim,

on the cusp -- praise song for walking forward in that light.

What artistry. That was deep.

Who else could conjur up such thoughts as autism, a steel band at Busch Gardens in Florida, Flannery O'Connor, the MCAT, jokes about a chicken crossing the road, custodial workers, Hippocrates, Smokey the Bear, and decaffeinated coffee - all while reading a poem in honor of the presidential inauguration?

Amanda will always be my patron saint of Bad Poetry, but now I have someone on earth to be my additional inspiration.

Now, to contemplate Love Token, Part 2.

Here is the video of herself reading her own poem:

While the World and I Sleep

While the world and I sleep,

someone will hit the mark.

Exceeding thirty-K,

ere light replaces dark.

No fanfare will it cause;

no quarter hour of fame.

Grateful for your visit,

we'll never know your name.

Thanks all who come and gaze,

upon the words you see.

I won't apologize

for my Bad Poetry.

SMD

11.22.2008

On the anticipated 30,000th visit to my blog, which was started in late June, 2006.




UPDATE!!!!

NUMBER 30,000 was from Taiwan!
That person was looking up stuff about St. Jean Vianney!

Thank You!

19th Wedding Anniversary

July 1, 2008 is the 19th Wedding Anniversary of dadwithnoisykids and Wifeofdadwithnoisykids!

For better or worse, in sickness and in health, for richer or for poorer, 'til death do us part.

These past 19 years have been filled with graces from God.

We have seen the birth of twelve children and eagerly await the arrival of the 2009 Model of Noisykid.

We have migrated around Southeastern Michigan, moved to San Antonio, Texas, and then moved up to the Dallas-Fort Worth metroplex. Our home has grown from a 700 square foot efficiency in married student housing to a 12 acre slice of Texas soil.

We have survived medical school, internship, residency, fellowship, military service, and private practice - so far.

We have suffered the loss of two children by miscarriage, and lost our third child, Theodore, this past April.

The strength to stay together in the face of so many trials is truly a gift from God; the graces of the Sacrament of Matrimony, as well as the Eucharist and Confession, have held us up tremendously.

Give Thanks To God.

That is Theodore in front of the picture of Divine Mercy.

All of these experiences have just made me love my wife more and more; with each day, my love for Wifeofdadwithnoisykids grows.

Tonight we went out to Nick & Sam's for our Anniversary Dinner. I was sitting at a table where I could see all that was going on in the kitchen. Being a man who is distracted by shiny objects, I kept on looking at the chefs as they hurried around the kitchen. At the same time, I kept thinking about how deeply I love my wife. As my wife pointed out to me, love is an act of the will, and can be expressed in various degrees.

For myself, I love my wife deeply, sincerely.

Thoughts of love blend with visions of chefs at work.

Suddenly it hits me:

I love you.....

Madly?