What Doest Thou Here?

The Queen - A Review

2011-09-12T15:02:00.000-04:00

The fifth Patrick Bowers thriller, “The Queen”, by StevenJames, careens through a Wisconsin winter likea snowmobile at full throttle. Jamesstarts our protagonist on a case related to his old nemesis, Richard Basque,then changes gears as Pat Bowers is assigned to a seemingly unrelated side-casethat acquaints him with a new conflicted nemesis, Alexei Chekov.

For those who love high tech adventures and suspense, thisbook stands toe-to-toe with the best Clancy novels. From Agent Bowers’ geospatial threedimensional profiling program, ELF (Extremely Low Frequency) transmissiontechnology for submarine contact, to the behind-the-scenes experimentalgovernment technologies used by spy agencies and Eco Terrorism, this book hasit all.

James does an excellent job at balancing the thrills withdeep character development where we dig into Agent Bowers’ past with an introductionof his brother and sister-in-law, Sean and Amber. Bower’s complicated relationship with hisdaughter Tessa creates a nice tension with an underlying question of whatforgiveness and reconciliation mean. DidPat Bowers and his on-again, off-again love interest Lien-hua Jiang finally getaround to tying the knot? You’ll have toread the book to find out.

Having read the past four Patrick Bowers novels, I am alwaysexpecting the unexpected twists at the end and “The Queen” didn’tdisappoint. This is required reading foradrenaline junkies!

“Available September 2011 at your favorite bookseller fromRevell, a division of Baker Publishing Group.”

2011-07-28T14:11:00.000-04:00

I’m headed off on a retreat, a break, a sabbatical. Booked a literal cabin in the woods and I’m unplugging from daily life for a few days to sit, listen, watch for a signpost, and course-correct.

I was unsure whether to label it a retreat or sabbatical. After reading Merriam-Webster’s definition, a retreat can be:

An act or process of withdrawing especially from what is difficult, dangerous, or disagreeable.
The forced withdrawal of troops from an enemy or advanced position.
A place of privacy or safety
A period of group withdrawal for prayer, meditation, or study

As it turns out, all of these definitions apply (aside from the “group” in #4).

The definition of a sabbatical is: a break or change from a normal routine.

I was thinking the term “sabbatical” would be more religious in meaning, having the root of “Sabbath” or rest. It also applies.

Regardless of what you call it, I’m on a mission to reset and redefine my life. The issue for me comes with having to sit and listen and understand this small piece of the puzzle that I’m allowed to see in God’s plan for me. I’m impatient when someone starts a sentence or I see where a conversation is going, but it’s not coming together fast enough. I jump in, assume the end, finish it for them. My spiritual walk has been the same. God hands me a few pieces of puzzle. I snap them together, assume I see the picture and start throwing more pieces into it and then find out the picture isn’t turning out as I had hoped or that God has moved onto another picture altogether I’m supposed to be helping with.

My good friend and one of my mentors recently threw out a couple metaphors for me to consider:

“It's interesting to me how we humans think.
When we think of plans we think of complete plans.
For instance, we design a complete house with all the details before we start to build it.
God doesn't seem to work that way.
I think He likes to reveal the foundation design (sometimes after the fact) without letting us in on the rest of the plans.
He calls that "faith".
"Hey, I'm going to give you a little taste but not the whole meal...do you still trust me?"
I believe all this stuff you're going through will start to sort itself out, but one of the most important questions you can ask is "What's next?"”

And another:

“A relationship with God is often like playing chess against Him.
The early moves of the match are pretty predictable - I ask for forgiveness through Jesus and He gives it.
However, as the match goes on and He takes pieces (of your past life) from you it gets both more interesting and less predictable.
I know I always like to know the end game when I make plans, but God doesn't like to reveal His end game on earth.
Of course He revealed His ultimate end game through Jesus, but there's a lot of interesting stuff in between acceptance and human death.

The intent of this reset is to deal with the direction of my family, ministry, and work (not necessarily in that order). I need to take a more proactive approach to leading my family with one teenager and two more to follow into the teens shortly thereafter. Do I want to continue to pursue writing for my music project, poetry, a book? Should I reconsider where I fit in with my current church family? Where do I want or need to be in 5 to 10 years with my business? Heavy stuff.

Not all of my questions will get answered, but I’m hoping to get some guideposts and clues for the next steps and a fresh perspective when I return. Sitting in God’s first cathedral (the great outdoors), will be the best place to listen.

The great thing is having a wife that understands you enough to know it’s time to take action, step away, and refocus. Without her coaxing and insistence, I would be stewing in un-fulfillment for the next season of life.

Maybe this will be the first of a yearly process of getting my life re-aligned…

Revolving Doors

2011-06-09T16:26:00.002-04:00

People often complain about change, are inflexible, get anxious. Life being analogous to a book, how else do you separate one chapter from another? Without these breaks, stops, and starts, this narrative would be a boring run-on sentence.

This weekend I come to the end of a chapter that wasn't planned. It never entered my mind as a possibility.

A week before the big change nearly 5 months ago, my future prospects in my work (I run my own business) waned and 36 hour weeks turned to 15. Margin was created in my life and an unsettling question of security crept in. An unfortunate situation occurred that created the need for me to step into the position of interim worship leader at our church. Sure, I love to sing. I've fronted a band, led worship every so-often, but never thought it would turn into even a short-term full time gig.

The time frame for finding a new worship leader was up in the air. The position is a difficult one for a church to fill. The estimate was a couple months to a year or more. My wife and I thought and prayed about it. It meant change for our family. The extra time required to do the job perfectly fit inside that margin that got created just a week earlier. I accepted the challenge and jumped into the world of ministry. Balancing work and family time with the demands of the worship leader position [selecting the themed music for worship, walk-in, and specials, charting, transposing, scheduling, practice, rehearsal, meetings, phone calls, texts] took a month to hammer out before we got into a good groove. I set aside one day (Tuesday) for all things worship: meetings, music stuff, most correspondence.

I found the new position easier than expected but something was missing. Like water into a cup that was unable to reach the rim, there was a crack that was keeping me from being completely fulfilled. The search took off and within two months, a prospect was found. Interviews and dinners and vetting. How could this be? It seemed that God had wrapped this gift, set it down in front of me, and in the midst of peeling away the layers of satisfaction, I forgot to read the tag on the outside of the present.

It wasn't for me.

My gift was finding myself and defining my path in the midst of something close to what I love, but the provision was meant for another person or group of people. An offer was extended and an end date was in sight. In God's perfect timing, I gained a new client and my other work has picked back up to the 30+ hours per week range just before I let go of the reins. Simply amazing!

The exciting part about knowing the final paragraph is coming is that a new chapter is about to begin. I have a rough idea for the outline of this new section. I'm keeping Tuesday as a "free day" to work on music, not work. I've had a music project camping out on my bucket list for too long and I want to mark it off by the end of the year. It has been an honor and a privilege to be asked to serve and to receive the support that kept our worship going.

This roundabout in my life reminds me of a poem by Billy Collins called "I Go Back to the House for a Book". Who am I without this experience? Who would I become if this chapter continued for another year? The answer to these questions is "exactly who I'm supposed to be."

Messing with Perfection

2011-01-11T17:15:00.000-05:00

i went out to revise the blank white canvas
that was my driveway

without consulting the Artist i picked up the brush
that was my shovel

and i walked line after line across the page removing the paint
that was the snow

the effort to restore the masterpiece brought the sweat
that caused me to go to Lowe's to buy a snowblower
that was on sale.

The Bishop

2010-08-01T19:02:00.000-04:00

How long has it been since you’ve picked up a book you literally could not put down until you finished every last sentence of the epilogue? The Bishop by author Steven James is that book for this year.

Book four in the Bowers Files starts off with a disturbing scene like the jerk of a roller coaster as you head to the first big hill. In Steven James fashion, our hero, FBI Special Agent Patrick Bowers, is pulled into another thrilling mystery pitting his unusual investigative techniques against psychopathic monsters.

James does a wonderful job of mastering the use of the first and third person to give the reader just enough information to let them play detective, yet withholding enough of the converging plots that you feel compelled to keep reading. His books are graphic, violent, informative, and introspective. The Bishop is no exception.

Midway through the book I was sure the mystery was about to be solved, but wouldn’t you know it…the first half was just the tip of the iceberg as far as the story was concerned. The story pulls you behind the scenes of the halls of the FBI, body farms, primate research facilities, the offices of lawyers, politicians, and hotels.

The Bishop is not a run-of-the-mill thriller. It tackles the scientific and ethical definitions of what it means to be human covering subjects such as transhumanism, metacognition, and intentionality.

Patrick Bowers’ personal life is the glue that holds the novel together and is woven into the story ingeniously giving the feel of a seamless transition between action, drama, romance, and horror. By the end of the book, I had no less than four people tagged as the person or persons “whodunit”. Now THAT makes for an exciting ending.

I anxiously await his next novel, The Queen, due out in 2011.

The Bishop is available August 2010 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group.

Come join the Launch Party!

"The Bishop" Launch Party

2010-07-21T12:41:00.002-04:00

I'm excited to be reading the 4th book in the Steven James series called "The Bishop". Even if you've never read one of his books, plan on attending the Facebook launch party!

The Testing Begins

2010-04-15T09:34:00.002-04:00

This is where the rubber meets the road and stops to consider the fork. My day job is spent as a self-employed software developer. I started the business on the downward trough of a recession and the effects are finally throwing me up onto the beach. A recurrent question throughout my adulthood has been "what do I want to be when I grow up", and the answer is typically "I don't want to grow up, so that's a stupid question!" The rat raced IT realm requires that you continue learning, pushing the envelope, and lowering your rates to compete with foreigners doing the same thing for one fifth what you charge. Declining budgets and software life cycle spirals (at least for Lotus Notes) have handed me plenty of free time.

With that free time I have invested in recording equipment to work on a "project". It is 7 years in the making. Season after season brings sparks of creativity followed by the small (yet overwhelming) voice saying "no one will care - this is mediocrity at best". I'm putting the noise-cancelling headphones on and plugging ahead for the sake of the idea, not the audience. A friend of mine recently told me that there shouldn't be a confidence killer because if I really believed that God provided a gift, He's not going to let me fail, especially if I am singing to Him. He is the audience.

I've got a couple gigs lined up and will be looking at doing more. Time is no friend though. Without a decent line-up of original tunes, I need to fall back on covers. Learning covers takes time and takes time away from the original songs.

Right now I'm down, but not broken. Open to anything but not discouraged.

Ready for what this test brings - especially the outcome.

touch and go

2009-09-15T22:49:00.003-04:00

some nights i stroke her neck
and she sings melodies
i have been waiting to hear

but tonight we fight and i grasp hard
trying to strangle a simple chorus
from her gaping mouth

like most females, i bribe her with gifts
like new strings, a fashionable strap
coaxing her into giving me what i want

we need time away from each other
so i am less calloused
she needs me to feel pain to create

my muse waits, begging to be touched
by someone who knows how to massage love
out of wood

The Knight by Steven James

2009-08-22T16:26:00.004-04:00

The Knight is the third installment of the Patrick Bowers files by Steven James. The typical progression for a decent writer is having a hit, followed by a sophomore slump, and then a not-as-good-as-the-first-one third novel. That is why Steven James is not typical. He starts the series out with a slam dunk and consistently tops each story.

To say I couldn't put this book down is an understatement. My wife complained when I took it into the bathroom with me. I was torn between reading it slowly and soaking in every word and racing through it to find out what happens.

Patrick Bowers is on the hunt for a killer who uses an ancient book as a script to commit sick and twisted murders. Using his unorthodox methods, which would cause Sherlock Holmes to take notice, Patrick Bowers finds himself in the thick of the plot. The twist at the end was well worth the wait.

Steven James weaves a chilling tale rich in action, suspense, drama, and even some romance. The flow of his books makes the story play out like a movie in your head. I'm anxiously awaiting his next novel, The Bishop, due out in 2010.

The Knight is available August 2009 at your favorite bookseller from Revell, a division of Baker Publishing Group.

A Well Written Tale, Indeed

2009-03-08T20:38:00.000-04:00

Theodosia and the Serpents of Chaos by R.L. LaFevers

My review

rating: 5 of 5 stars
Very entertaining book in the same vein (and time period) as Sherlock Holmes. Centered around an 11 year old girl whose parents are Head Curators and Archaeologists in London. The book was a mix between Harry Potter (Theodosia has some unique abilities that others do not) and A Series of Unfortunate Events (where most of the adults are unaware of grand plots, schemes, and children). I liked it well enough that I'll have my 11 year old daughter read it so I can move on to the second book in this series!

View all my reviews.

I Have Teen Ears!?

2009-02-26T11:05:00.002-05:00

I've had hearing loss in one of my ears since high school band (i played drums), so I thought there was no way I would hear this, but I heard it loud and clear. I'm not sure that it would be annoying enough to make me walk away from it.

Created by Train Horns

A Game Of Thrones

2009-02-26T10:51:00.002-05:00

A Game of Thrones by George R.R. Martin

My review

rating: 3 of 5 stars
I used to be into fantasy. A buddy suggested a few of the best series around and I chose George R. R. Martin's books. I really got into the characters in this book once I got half way through it. There were lots of plot lines, characters to admire and despise, and enough twists to keep you reading. It took me longer that I thought to get through it because of the detail in Martin's writing - VERY descriptive. In some spots, I found myself skipping through paragraphs to get to the meat of the story. While I enjoy a good epic, I was a bit peeved at the end looking back at how little had actually transpired and how many questions I now had. I'm not one to quit a book, so the thought of reading book two may keep me from cracking it.

View all my reviews.

Billy Collins - "Ballistics"

2008-12-12T09:53:00.001-05:00

Ballistics: Poems by Billy Collins

My review

rating: 5 of 5 stars
Billy Collins continues to add to his impressive body of poetry. His use of language to create several layers that grab the deep thinkers as well as the casual surface-type dwellers make this book hard not to read several times through.

Being a big fan of Mr. Collins, I found it hard not to speed through each poem just to consume it. I like to let each poem soak and ponder the various meanings that get conjured, but also could not wait to get to the next "painting" to see where it leads me. It is similar to buying a new album from your favorite musical artist. The first listen is just to absorb the experience. The second time through plants the seeds much deeper.

Well done, Mr. Collins. Well done.

View all my reviews.

The Rook

2008-10-13T10:49:00.000-04:00

The Rook by Steven James

My review

rating: 4 of 5 stars
Steven James has built a compelling storyline (Continuing on the story of Patrick Bowers in "The Pawn") based on deep character development, high tech know-how, and being able to convey the fine-line walked between being a criminal and knowing how to catch one.

My favorite line in the book is: "Love that's too timid to ache isn't love at all"

Can't wait for "The Knight" coming out Summer 2009.

View all my reviews.

The Shack

2008-09-04T15:36:00.003-04:00

I heard some talk about The Shack and wanted to read it before any spoilers wormed their way into my head. Much like when The Golden Compass came out on film. I distrust the media, not so much because of how they portray (spin) art, but the condescension that comes from their need to explain to me what I should be feeling/thinking/seeing.

The revelation of God being portrayed as three separate entities with different human qualities is not news. Frankly, the God portrayed in the book is the one I currently have a relationship with. What really struck me about the book is the slow set up and then gut punch simplicity of God's love for ALL of His children.

I enjoyed the fact that laying out the basic tenets of Christian beliefs was done so in the guise of a parable and not from a soapbox. Most complaints I have heard since reading The Shack comes from either the portrayal of God as one or any of the three characters, or that non-Christians will think that God will send them a letter.

My response to both of these lines of thought are exactly what has been taught within the story of this book: Who are we to judge who God is, what He can do, and why He does anything? I thought that was the point of the Emergent Church. To break conventional thinking about God and his message within the organized, institutional church.

Christians, non-Christians, and those hurt by institutionalized religion that do not understand the relational aspect of being a Christ follower should read this book.

Summer Reading Club - Homestretch

2008-07-30T16:57:00.003-04:00

This is part of Mark Lee's Summer Reading Club.

The Last Lecture

The Freedom Manifesto

Tom Hodgkinson

Summer Reading Club - Weeks 4 & 5

2008-07-11T10:29:00.003-04:00

This is part of The Prophet, Dr. Mark Lee's Summer Reading Club.

The Frog Who Wanted to See the Sea

Guy Billout

WEEK ONE UPDATE: Off to a great start but fell into old habit of reading several books at one time which means my list will EXPLODE here in a few weeks, but remain the same for a while until my book snowball gains momentum.

WEEK TWO UPDATE: Look to finish two books this week since my wife has a girls' night out.

WEEK THREE UPDATE: Got wrapped up in reading The Pawn and The Last Lecture. Decided to put them aside to read Everlost on a tip from Mark Lee for a quick read.

'95 Civic Demand

2008-07-09T10:52:00.002-04:00

Just read an article about the '95 Honda Civic being the most stolen car in America and has been in the Top 10 for Most Stolen four years in a row.

That news is not so great now that mine is no longer taking a spot in my garage. I recently bought a 2003 Honda Accord Coupe from a friend and have relegated my '95 Civic to the end of the driveway. I'm hoping that the interest in this year and model will help me to sell mine faster without having it become another statistic in a news story.

My Civic has few things going against it: 240,000 miles, no dashboard lights, CD player doesn't work, paint is faded on the roof, and there are a few spots on the lower doors that are starting to show rust.

But the one ace-in-the-hole: It's a Honda. It's probably got another 250,000 miles in it, and has never needed anything other than tune-ups, oil changes, and tires.

Reverse Food Chain

2008-07-02T00:25:00.004-04:00

We awoke this morning to tears and anger. My five year-old son’s largest anole had died. The tears were for the anole. The anger was for the crickets who consummated their delicious revenge by eating the anole’s eyes out of their sockets. Rigid and weighing a fourth of his original self, I took him from the position of his last breath and walked him to the trash. The trash seems like such a low place to rest for a loved pet, but mistakes made are never repeated when it comes to pets and death.

My seven year-old daughter’s fish died a couple months ago. I decided to “plant” the fish in the garden. Having a “Green” wife and myself with Cherokee blood, this seemed like the most eco-friendly course of disposal. The thought of Cinderella, the Chinese Fighting Fish, pushing up a green pepper plant felt like a fitting end to a life trapped behind plexigas. Unfortunately, during a replanting of my garden due to torrential floods, my daughter found her once-buried fish. The mourning process is rather tedious (for an adult) the second time around. I’m thinking about how Lazarus’s family felt upon his second death and burial. Did they say, “Okay, Jesus is not around. I think it's safe."? or “I hope this is the last time we have to bury this guy.”?

One smaller anole remains. My son has been pining for a fire belly toad, so he’s not pulling very hard for the little lizard to survive much longer in a cage with a couple dozen crickets licking their chops. One lesson I hope he’s learned is that you need to keep those lower on the food chain happy (or fed) if you want them to respect you when you’re all dried up.

Summer Reading Club - My List: Week 2

2008-06-11T13:02:00.004-04:00

This is part of Dr. Mark Lee's Summer Reading Club.

old stuff, but fun

2008-05-04T23:26:00.003-04:00

While cleaning out a drawer stuffed with unlabeled CDs and DVDs, I came across one with "special" music from July 8, 2007.

I believe this was the next to last time I sang at our old church. Over nine years at that church I probably sang close to half of the songs on Third Day's albums. My best work is still to be written and sung, but this was fun anyhoo.

Up until Saturday, I have always just watched vids on YouTube. Well...now I'm a contributor. Here's a link to the "special" music from last summer:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZaQv8e4qkho

"back in the sadde again..."

2008-04-28T11:10:00.003-04:00

WOW...what a great time leading worship this weekend. I haven't "technically" done it since July 1, 2007 at my old church, so it has been a while. It was just so comfortably exciting up there...no other way to describe it.

The first couple songs rocked: "The Difference" and "You Are Good"

The morning crowd was hard to get juiced up. When you're doing a song that involves congregational participation, it helps to have people participating. The second celebration was off-the-hook. To be able to just hold the mic out and really feel the people worshiping is something I'll never get tired of experiencing.

The Crowder song "Wholly Yours" is great in the chorus, but parts of the verse and the pre-chorus are tough for folks to sing unless they know the song really well. "Once Again" probably wouldn't be in my short list of songs to select, but it was a perfect fit during communion.

Since I have started taking guitar lessons, I notice my left hand moving into chord positions while I'm singing...like on "Wholly Yours" during the chorus fingering the "D", then to the "A", then "E". It probably looked strange, but I'm starting to feel it!

Looking forward to doing it again soon and rocking out with my new friends.

muscle memory

2008-04-21T12:01:00.002-04:00

My fingertips are numb now and forming callouses. I play an hour every night and my muscles are getting quicker about changing keys and remembering where G, C, D, Dm, A, Am, E, Em, and F hide.

Our worship pastor asked me to lead this weekend, so I'm going through the songs making sure it's all within my range. Excited and anxious about it since I haven't lead worship since July 1 last year at my old church. Maybe this will be the last time I lead at our new church!

1st Lesson

2008-04-13T15:24:00.003-04:00

I made it through my first guitar lesson. The format is going to suit me just fine. The plan is not to walk through beginner lesson books like Mel Bay or Hal Leonard, but to work on getting me to play songs as soon as possible. So, I learned two chords (Em and D-6/9F#) which are two finger chords. The very cool thing about these two chords are the fact that they are the only chords in the song "A Horse With No Name" by America (one of my favorite songs).

My instructor has been playing for many years, has a few albums out, and is also into Christian music. He taught me a couple other chords that are used in many songs, so this week I am working on G, D, and C. I think 90% of Neil Diamond's songs use these three chords, so my brother will be pleased!

I spent the past couple nights working out "This Is Love" (Terry Butler/Mike Young), "You Are So Good To Me" (as done by Third Day), "Communion" (Third Day), and "You Are Worthy of My Praise" (Jeremy Camp). There are some books and DVDs at the library I have put on hold to supplement my lessons with, so I'm psyched about absorbing as much as I can.

My brain is already changing. I typically will either sing or watch the drummer play during the worship set. Today at church was different. I found myself watching all four of the guitar players looking at their hands and checking out techniques. Hopefully the light will pop on in my head (and hands) and playing will eventually be second nature to me.

i bought a new friend

2008-04-09T10:14:00.003-04:00

I finally did it! It took two shopping trips a more cash than I thought it might, but I finally found my new friend. I bought a guitar!

Not just any guitar. It's an Art & Lutherie. Made in Canada, eh? I looked at Taylor, Takamine, Ephiphone, and Seagull. The Art & Lutherie is made by Godin who also makes Seagulls. Not high end, but in came down to feel and sound quality. I'm not sure why, but I was drawn to it.

A man came in with his two young sons, had them strum a couple (they didn't know how to play) and bought a $1800 Epiphone. I bet they shopped for a total of 6 minutes. Maybe I was being a bit analytical or over thinking the whole thing, but I took my time.

The store is also where I'm going to take lessons, so I'm waiting on a call today for them to pair me up with a teacher. I can't wait to get to know my new friend.

...the call

2008-04-07T10:24:00.004-04:00

i had prayed boldly about my family's health
and all of those things that so easily
fall from my lips

a continual stream of the familiar
having seen Him come through time and again
afraid to challenge something new

the weakness was in me bound in silver chains
of my own inability to see the treasure just
outside my cell door

even behind my eyelids in my dreams i felt His hand
but in my physical shell where numbness barely
allows a tug from the supernatural i heard the small ring

awoke to sunlight, smiled and lifted my face to the Son
turned my head and as I glimpsed the phone
it rang

Robe Rules

2008-04-02T21:30:00.002-04:00

Not sure what category this thread falls under. It should probably go with personal hygiene, fashion, or perhaps personal consideration of others.

As the alluring title suggests, I am in need of either formulating or being made aware of some rules regarding robes. I understand and have adhered to certain rules such as not drinking (heavily) before noon, not wearing white before Memorial Day, and not filling up the pool until after the first frost. Having the opportunity to work from home typically four out of five days per week, I find myself rolling out of bed, grabbing a cup of coffee, and spending most of the day sitting in front of my laptop in my robe. The issue comes from the looks I get and sometimes the feeling of scumming around.

I like showering as much as the next guy, but I typically work out in the afternoon or very late at night. Showering in the morning and again later just seems like a waste. I'm fairly new to the Green Living movement, so I can use water usage as an argument for staying in my robe.

One of my Twitter pals @Worshipcity suggested that a robe can be considered an "indoor jacket". According to him, "you can wear it all day long...inside. You step one foot outdoors in 1 and it's to the Looney Bin!". I like that rule...except it gets broken when I go to grab the paper or the mail at lunch. Look left, look right, look left again -- then sprint to the mailbox before the neighbors catch a glimpse of a green flannel blur.

Rules are made for breaking. ROBE WEARERS UNITE!!!

Guitar Shopping

2008-03-11T15:23:00.002-04:00

God has removed every excuse from my repertoire not to push forward on my music project. After starting my own business, I now have time and money to burn (so to speak).

I'm looking for a new guitar. I've got one circa 1987 from Sears. I think it was about $100 at the time. It's a killer - finger killer that is! I'm not sure why they make learner guitars so hard to play. Maybe they do it to weed out the wannabes. The ones I have seen on-line that I'm willing to invest in are between $200-$400. My bro has an $800 Epiphone, but until I get to the place where I think I can invest a decent amount of time to learning, I'll stick with something on the lower end.

I can read music and have self-taught myself the Hal Leonard beginner books. I pick them up and play for a couple weeks until my fingers can take no more. That's when I set the guitar down for a while. Typically a few years at a time. Then I start all over again. I've been writing some songs and I'm ready to put them to music.

The place I'm at currently is frustration at not having an outlet to sing. Whether it's being under-used or not knowing how to use me, I'm not quite sure. So God has made it uncomfortable enough for me and fired me up so that I'm ready to create opportunities to use my gift.

real treasure

2008-02-13T13:36:00.003-05:00

you cut me
adding insult to injury
cologne ripped from the pages
of a magazine

you mock me
the muffled sound of bubbles
magnifies the cheapness of champagne
in sterile styrofoam

you control me
with relentless mind dulling pictures
broadcast for days upon days
through the dish on the trailer

you taught me
that each person holds treasure
in their eyes based on want
but needs are filled by the heart

my addiction

2008-02-06T14:44:00.000-05:00

the curve of your yawning trap
filled with steaming essence
from Brazilian earth and sun

poured out for the forgetting of sleep
staining clothes, teeth, and attitudes
injecting your jittery goodness

allowing me to speak with dullness
on my tongue with neurons firing
faster than I can blink

by the third cup i have gone from
luxury to need - unhealthy habit
sending skull crushing pain in its place

green mile

2008-01-28T09:31:00.000-05:00

the wry smile
with the bony leg of a cricket
wedged in the corner of your grin

eyes shut tight as you take
another hard swallow of
crunchy exoskeleton

heart racing, thorax squeezed
looking down the abyss of the lizard
through one thousand lenses of your compound eye

simple systems

2008-01-18T08:15:00.000-05:00

our stars cross
sharing dust
our trajectories
forever changed

our new shape
gaining mass
spins off
three little moons

watching our rotation
orbits change
eventually breaking
free from gravity

trio of planets
eventually creating
a new cluster
in our space

nothing for sure

2008-01-10T23:23:00.000-05:00

the steady cascade of rain
from a faucet left on by
an absent-minded God
rather than the worn gray blanket of clouds

slowly fading the weathered
gray fence to a deep rich burgundy
i could have told you
it would happen

just as when i see the once wind-lodged branch
lifeless - an amputated limb - broken
and know its future will take it
to the brush pile beside the retired shed

As sure as each kernel of corn
will be delivered from the cob
to our year-round resident
squirrel's cheek

The rain's predictability mocks my ability
to know so much...spending my days
searching for answers
except for knowing my future

perhaps the fence, the corn, maybe even the squirrel,
but especially the rain
look at me knowing only one thing for sure
what will become of me

Mix it up

2008-01-08T09:49:00.000-05:00

So I originally intended this to be a site exclusively for giving my poetic creative side somewhere to dump. Though I have several poem buds started, they are taking some time to bloom, so while I work through the details...

I have been reading Ted Kooser, Poet Laureate of the US and former Pulitzer Prize winner, most recently. His poetry reminds me of Billy Collins, but in a more matter-of-fact, slightly depressed, and less humorous tone.

Ted Kooser's The Poetry Home Repair Manual is my current read. I hesitate reading any "how to make your poetry better" books because I don't believe there are any formulas needed for expressing yourself if you truly want to define your own voice. However...Ted's advice for reading as much as you can thereby understanding language and how to better communicate to an audience by standing on the shoulders of others is priceless. I agree with his notion that, "we teach ourselves to write the types of poems we like to read". It's the same with music. If I am interested in jazz, I wouldn't go out and pen a heavy metal rock anthem. So I am enjoying his book.

I'm putting the finishing touches on a poem about Zippy, my son's anole. Hopefully by week's end.

super powers

2007-12-13T22:19:00.000-05:00

i know if i concentrate hard enough i will
start to see the fan blades move
then make it stop and glance out of the
corner of my eye to make sure it was unseen

i've known i could fly since i played
in sandboxes and jumped off of the split rail fence
the fact that i haven't tried from higher than
a ladder in many years makes no difference

something i can no longer do is become invisible
hiding behind a couch or under my blankets
now with my own children with better abilities than mine
like the power of being able to see invisible parents

my twin brother and i never knocked fists together
and yelled "wonder twin powers - activate"
we already knew the strength of the supernatural bond between us
and the world could not hold us

and our dreams coming true day after day
were enough that there was no need to pretend
or even ask for more
than what we already possess

what are the rules?

2007-12-07T00:02:00.000-05:00

follow me home and make me aware
of a place that i dream all alone
people see more through rose colored lenses
than most people find from their throne

my daughter said poetry always should rhyme
the young and their blinders don't see
that open verse ramblings of thirty-something men
can be deep as a yet uncrossed sea

Do metrical patterns like iambic pentameter
Unleash words to the same boring song?
Maybe free verse will break these chains of arrangement
Because concrete acrostic's just wrong

If the Bard were alive i wonder if he
would take note of our lack of prim diction
and write less about death in structured quatrains
and more about spiritual conviction

balloon

2007-12-04T12:42:00.001-05:00

suspended between the ceiling and the floor
eliciting squeals and smiles for a few days
tight and reflecting, almost bursting with exuberance
while shiny mylar frogs proclaim "Hoppy Birthday!"

now dragging its green ribbon across the carpet
swirling in circles of air from the floor register
like an old man leaking gas through seams
losing the battle of loft through diffusion

i kicked it this morning
lying in my path, not just physically but as mental clutter
i will kidnap it tonight after the children are in bed
rescuing it from punches and sharp objects

placing it atop black hefty trash bags
frogs still smiling, remembering the joy they once brought
to a now five year old who still remembers
and when morning comes asks where his dying balloon went

Ode to Mr. Wilcox

2007-11-19T17:39:00.001-05:00

the way his fingers glide down the fret board
making the slightest whistle like
hearing the troubadour take a breath
between phrasing in his tale of love

we both know he is adept enough
not to make this sound, but he purposefully
strokes the strings of my heart
encased in pearl inlays

the resonance from the yawning hole in the brazilian rosewood
echoes out from partial capos
the baritone voice telling deep stories in perfect
time and pitch mixed with open tunings in cross keys

talking of old affections, addictions, climbing high hills
these are the soundtracks for many lives
an unheralded afficionado unheard of by
most who listen to dumbed-down mass produced drivel

which is more than fine for us who
don't wish to share our diamond
only hoping deserved accolades would
fall like leafy notes from his well traveled strings

i didn't brings the mums in this year

2007-11-14T09:23:00.000-05:00

i didn't bring the mums in this year
the weather prognosticator with his seal of approval
clicking in slides of the approaching clipper
warned of impending death with white lines and single digits

i watched them through the glass of the back door
one minute stretching to a faltering sun
the next looking at me with panicked and questioning eyes
wondering if their lives were a colorful show

the shovel i meant to wield to extend their annual lives
now rests against the faded cedar fence
half of the spade hidden beneath the first
sticking, lasting snow of the season

head bowed in mournful respect as i stare
at the wilted lifeless mass in the terra-cotta urn
a monument to good intentions and woeful neglect all because
i didn't bring the mums in this year

breath

2007-11-06T23:11:00.000-05:00

the moon casts shadows
of the bars on your crib
across your chest, arms up and out
as i hold my breath to listen to yours

your hair matted with sweat
big grin as you practice superman's moves
and wrestle with the arms that hold you
and listen as you pant for more

she has long since drifted on silken wings
pulled down to recharge by the heavy weight of being a mother
the familiar look of the ceiling at midnight as i hear
the deep cadence from the ebb and flow of your lungs

another dark room awaits where i will sit
and ponder the irregular rasp from a bedside
regretfully cursing having taken for granted
every breath of those i love

power surge

2007-10-29T16:16:00.000-04:00

power surge

the mic is wet with my grip
not from the white hot spots
nor the butterfly looking for a landing place
in my hollowed gut

but growing tension of what is about
to be released

they do not know that the house mains,
monitors, amps, aural exciter, and bass bends
are unnecessary for this delivery

my eyes stay shut, the gates holding back the power
that has been welling so deep within
not just before my birth but the spark
wrought at creation

When my mouth opens i could pin them to
the back wall of the building
i imagine them leaning into the hurricane
force of my breath - groping for their seats

Forget about diaphragm, throat, and technique.
This is my inner life
o that i may have the strength to control the release
of a mere three and a half minutes of supernatural light

before i slam shut the door from where it boils
and spin the vault lock while the bolts clink
I have dipped the tips of these notes
in the fire of the Spirit

Aiming to pierce or just scratch
the metal, ice, and wood of these unsuspecting hearts
Poisoning them with an infection
which they will never be cured

golden mist swirls around distant lightening
gathering strength as the verse leads to chorus
the eye of the storm through the bridge
is pierced by waves of choruses

the music fades, my feet are back stage
the fog of unselfconsciousness lifts
as the sun of my ego begins to dawn
and i crumple in disbelief that i survived

this power surge

owed to the poet

2007-10-22T12:09:00.000-04:00

i imagine a skinny man
with high-watered pants sitting
in the grass beneath a tree

pencil to mouth thinking
looking, eyes squinted for inspiration
playing with words

changing, rephrasing, cleverly
being a Mary to nature's gifts
for our amusement's sake

while the rest of us toil as Martha
and labor for our pay
to purchase your attempt at understanding

like knowing no heart-ache or misery
and writing an empty shell
of a song about our blues

I salute you for your ability
to find a way to excuse
lack of profession for artistic ambivalence

how truly poetic

feeling garden

2007-10-17T20:20:00.000-04:00

like the sunflower at the end of the season
head bowed, crying seeds of tears
into the soil around its feet

the battalion of corn, faces tanned by a summer
standing guard and displaying their holsters
filled with the ammunition for another years struggle

pumpkins never chosen by tiny hands
worn paper thin ready to sink their tokens
into the sediment for another chance at Halloween's lottery

all eyes (and ears) transfixed on me
before i wrench the tiller to life
threatening to unleash this reaper into

another attempt at immortality

red anger

2007-10-10T22:47:00.000-04:00

the bag of clues were collected
she stood transfixed
having never been one to start a fight

more for fear of what she would do to the one
that crossed her
than to the consequences of her actions

gripping the basket like the handlebars
of a hog full throttle
but without the wind to cool the roiling sea of her anger

closing her lids to concentrate the growing tempest
calculating a myriad of possible endings
to this focused singularity

She slowly pulled the scarlet hood down to her nape
feigned a smile of smug indifference and
put two barrels of buckshot into the not so big, bad

ears, hands, and teeth of the wolf

just enough

2007-10-10T11:43:00.000-04:00

Those three make up the belt
Follow my finger to Polaris
I remember just enough to impress
my children in the inky dark

A card to celebrate our day
My hand reaches for yours
I do just enough to keep
the embers of our fire glowing

Deadline rushing into my present
Late nights are not the exception
I finish just enough to remain
employed to subsidize my dreams

Old sins pay another visit
Plagued with my own guilt
I fall just enough to stay
Cursed by Adam's poor choices

Doors of my heart gladly flung wide
Impassioned plea to live within me
I did just enough to live
in eternal bliss with you

commissioned work

2007-10-04T23:12:00.000-04:00

she's constantly moving

creating work for herself, wanting others to create work
complaining about it but secretly relishing every sock
every dish, every spill that is culled from minor artists hands

they are truly masters
able to evoke a masterpiece in the quick gesture of a hand
using a palette of laminate and two percent white as the medium

waving a wand of permanent color and forever
modifying a crisp white shirt
to fulfill the commissioned work

the seemingly involuntary creative period for these artisans
is quickly passing - soon to be replaced
with the neatness of repetitive motor skills

the secret wish of the mother
is that the next generation of artists
sit at the same accidental easel

while i stand in awe of them both

i laugh

2007-10-04T22:59:00.000-04:00

i laugh not at the hand that made me
but by the ability to recognize
that i was made

why give me room to speculate?
when blissful ignorance would be less painful
than to know my fate

debate will and freedom all you like
for i have both
an easy choice when you consider

that night is best seen
with a moon illuminating
my searching heart

games of circumstance

2007-10-03T16:15:00.000-04:00

the move she made was unexpected
a fork to force a decision upon rested
our entire relationship

to know would be pure genius or madness
by chance to not know would be pure heart-ache
yet her finger lifted from the piece - played

my answer, required as it were, would seal our fate
a 'yes' changed her direction
from affirmation to affection

a 'no' emboldened her against me
with imagined and calculated malice

either path ended at the same spot
at the dark crevasse in the valley behind the hill
of waned friendships and parted ways

why she asked the question is irrelevant
the result i shall always think upon
like retracing uncounted strokes
after the pin is replaced

winged herald

2007-10-02T14:13:00.000-04:00

The simple chirp of wings
drawn one upon another
Like hooks tossed overboard
to dredge the heart for memories

Of sun-dappled leaves awaiting
their swan song in the Grand cycle
Full of death yet used for life
in the next tilt of the axis

The natural metronome of their cadence song tells me that we have reached
October
Where shade and sun fight for territory
to soon be overtaken by the bitter sting of frost

Travelling skies set with moons fit for harvest
while woodsmoke wafts through windows
Soon to be shut
where crickets sing no more.

tuesday afternoon

2007-04-25T19:08:00.000-04:00

i sit and listen
train whistle
feel the ground
vibrates like an uneven clothes dryer

sound of combustion engines
engaging, enraged, and revved to hurry up
and wait

if 4:09 ever comes i will think about
the last ten minutes
and ask to have them added when the
end comes

unsettled certainty

2007-01-20T04:17:00.000-05:00

it seems
that even when a lack of rules exist
right...wrong...are inbred

creator not of - but in - the world
not watching - but living - within
not concerned with how - but why

replacing sacrifice with mercy

o to be aware of the significance of the grace
that left and in its place

love
has grown

beautiful bread of the soul, peace of the blood, gift for my soul
i long for, yet fear, the leaving of
this place

liquid of the first miracle courses my veins to find inspiration
or is it insightful enlightenment?
perhaps righteous indignation

from the handily crafted
Dust
of my existence