Ode to South America's Pacific Coast, more precisely, the Galapagos Islands, where true passion lives. Little man, deem yourself a moral coward next to the Galapagos iguanas.
In the Galapagos, the iguanas do the unimaginable. Slip and slide, they descend volcanic slopes, defying cremation from instant burps, defying crashing avalanches all about, putting their reptilian hides at risk.
That little man, is true devotion to species, 'cause that's what the iguanas are doing, going down to lay eggs in a lava warmed incubator. Take note little women --- quick to get pregnant, quick to abort. How far do you go for your unborn?
That's Survival 101 as taught the iguanas by Evolution. In the meanwhile, a bevy of terrorists in the Upper Bronx a bomb in a briefcase, nuke New York City, a first since Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Suddenly, Iraq has reached us.
Few are the luxuries that equal plumbing Marvelous is the technology which brings us CNN; the warm assurance that a humongous tsunami in distant Sumatra can never reach our Jersey Shore.
Few are the innovations that rival television, virtual banquet for dormant brain cells. You like clowns? We got them of every hue. You want preachers? They abound.
You feel horny? We got shakers of the mammary humping flag poles As for me, I prefer a tamer fare. So, I turns me on to a western coast South America drama:
A growth emerged from trodden path, and so as not to dismember it under foot or by rotating mower blade, I moved it closer to the inner fence.
And there it stood and there it grew, and there I saw it bloom one day, as I walked down to the shed, again, to retrieve yet another tool.
I paused to ask the plant her name She said to me, "My name is Brides, for I am virgins, and all my petals are perfumed."
It's been a time since I, the gardener, walked thereabouts, and from my nap of earth of now, I wonder if said encounter ever happen, or was it just a wishful thinking?
Resonance, mates, let us seek; to still winds that need be stilling; to tell and see a misplaced mountain relocate.
Like a child, that rope in hand, skips in cadence, and twirling loops (quick time or slow) she commands --- to prove what? That her powers are pure happenstance?
God forbid, I dare tempt (or test) such weighty matters. Instead, spirit filled, faith filled submit me I to: Life, Way and Truth.
Riveters shooting steel where normal humans dare not tread construction workers on high beam stunts we owe much to Joe Hardhat
Clanging iron, the next step up skyscrapers rising taller by the hour we owe much to engineers we owe much to hands that work
This city my city, New York City is layered in geological and human doings The island of Manhattan was carved by glaciers, and neath our streets we have the world of cables
Our first tenants were Redmen Then, came Dutch and English after When I speak Bronx, you can't tell if I'm Jew or Irish
JFK (the President) said, "Ich bin ein Berliner." Make no mistake about it, Abigail is a New Yorker born and bred where the estuary in two divides; Hudson River to the West, Harlem River to the east.
At the southern tip, the land-grip of Twin Towers, flashing codes of world commerce and then, one day...destruction Burn in hell Mohammed Ata.
It was New Year Eve, 1978 The last movie posted on the marquee would be, John Travolta and Olivia Newton John's, "Grease." The audience numbered five lonely hearts No popcorn in hand, no popcorn in mouth... nothing better to do on an Ole Year's night.
The concessionaire stand had already been crated Television had sealed the movie house's demise a generation earlier There was a time, you could make out all afternoon in its balcony Two full length movies, newsreels, cartoons...and vaudeville
In the weeks and months and years post closure, the boarded up theater took on the appearance of a crypt Till one good day, an investor had an idea. Remove the planks from its doors and exits, fumigate the joint from top to bottom, dress it in blood red velvet rechristen it, "The Little House of Horrors."
Two blocks from the ocean off Atlantic Avenue where hired part time workers play ghouls and goblins Halloween, 52 weeks a year.
we crossed the heavy seas on dingy the waves towered...you were pregnant we're both in fear of capsizing, at the next slap to broadside us.
the sharks circle we put on brave faces for sake of crew and passengers
decades later, a bed is detached from emergency wall nurse pushes you prostrate through emergency surgery doors intravenous bags sway overhead. overhead the florescent slip like blurred memories of omen fish
says the nurse, "time to say goodbyes." we kiss as christians should. are we scared? not on a dime. am tearing streaming brokenhearted, though
we put on brave faces for sake of crew you and i are, we're finally one, beyond fear at last. courage is trick of mind over panic a skill picked up along the way
Grace, however, is absence of fear. Grace is gift from God
