rule number ONE

simple is the hardest of all

If you grasp  nothing else

grasp this

it isn’t that God doesn’t want to break his own rules

he can’t                

as in is not able to

not even for you  cutie

Rosa

My Granny kept her faith, stayed sane,

Through poverty and loss and pain,

To somehow cope with daily want:

A soul that naught in life could daunt.

Not losing six of fourteen born,

Not fighting sickness, hunger-worn,

Not grappling with her man gone mad,

Beat to defeat by luck, all bad.

Not watching six of her live eight

Go wrong and bad, just two left straight.

God rest her now! She then grew old,

And coughing, shivering, always cold,

At eighty-three, burnt out inside,

Sick all her last ten years she died.

And cruelest irony of all,

She said she heard no savior's call,

No, rather came, by agony,

To hate priests' patronizing "we".

Told one good son: "O Frank, don't cry!

Don't pray I'll live! Frank, pray I'll die!"

Rolled Trousers, Sad Old Men

The mem'ries of Life Carnival

Hot roars, kid squeals, fried onions,

Flapping flags

Alas, you don't recall what I recall

J. Prufrock sees the sad abuse of art

To advertise so endless sales expand,

And martyr Mrs. P. does not expect

Her kids will ever, ever understand.

No one recalls what anyone recalls.

Then, is what matters "taste"? A preference?

What? What? That's your response? That's it? 

I wander, mumble, call a name,

Confused, exhausted, full of shame.

All hope - all "I" - disintegrates,

Something is turning toward a searing light,

a blue-white searchlight super nova bright.

In honor of

their half-hour love

the insects fly

and scorch and die

I shall plunge headlong into war;

A neutron bomb is just a lovely torch?  

Requiem For Breathers

Dare ending. Advance to happiness.

Don't even acknowledge the horror.

Don't enter a thought here.

Soft grasses by this headstone grey.

What does it mean, this desolate day?

Oh, Dad, I miss you now! 

Product

Say what you wanna say.

I can read your face; you're gonna anyway.

Where d'you suggest I go

When this dirty street's the only world I know?

I got a concrete yard; I got a concrete sky.

I got a neon tree, seven storeys high.

I got a methamphetamine skin disease;

I got a 9 mm and I do as I please.

Why I'd wanna be like you?

Not a thing you know, that I wish I knew.

Be a man like the men in the movie shows,

Like my man Frank Lucas and the Correleones.

Get a Coupe de Ville, fine bitch, fine threads.

Get 'em now, right now, 'cause I soon be dead.

Say what you wanna say.

I can read your face. You're gonna anyway. 

Prey

at four a.m. awake

I saw across the lake

a monstrous cloud

swirls round a huge, transluce amoebic shape

all but invisible ......but there

no look     there

THERE

scenting the hills and picker's shacks

calmly

delicately

coming

for me

                        Physics Poems           

In truth, the particles are crossing waves

So, intricately, stuff called "matter" raves

Heat-rippled lights spew out a silent roar

Across the ages, universes, more

On, on, and on unend

The open (something) mind then makes

Eternity to soothe its aches

To nothingness

I know how harsh God is.

The Murder-Mercy match races are on.

What am I doing in these cleats?!

I have returned from completing several favors and chores that needed doing. 

Thank you for hanging in there. 

A couple of points: 

1. I plan to re-write the final chapter of my book, trying to make its logic less dependent on accounts of my personal changes and more simply the expression of careful reasoning applied to a lot of real world evidence. This I will aim to do in the next two months, and when it is re-written to my satisfaction, I will take down the old version and post the new one. 

2. This decision came about because I did get some thoughtful feedback from one of my friends who is a college instructor and who was taken enough with what I was trying to accomplish to read right to the end of my book. Her comments were helpful in at least two senses: first, she made me see why some readers are not getting my logic; and second, her questions showed me that my approach and tone in that final chapter are simply too self-absorbed. What I want to say about the probability of the existence of God is much more important than any personal epiphanies I may have had on the long road to my conclusion, and the truth of my main thesis can be demonstrated without accounts of my personal trials being inserted at all. 

Which leads me to say once again: please, anyone out there in cyber-space who is reading this blog, send me your comments, questions, etc. Even if I don't agree with what you have to say, I will provide responses and answers that are based on reasoning and empirical evidence, not on personal, non-replicable experiences or on references to ancient texts. In short, if you can spare a minute or two, I need your feedback. Your email address will not be put on any lists for advertising or fund-raising or crackpot campaigns. I don't even know how to do such stuff. 

But I do have to make this book better so that its ideas spread, even if no one in the future ever knows my name. What I am trying to say about the nature of moral values and how vital they are to the future of our species is so large compared to me and my foibles that I and my attached quirks dwindle to insignificance. 

My email for this blog is: <drwendell49@gmail.com> 

Have a great day.          -- Dwight   

Pachyderm Angel

In the dream

An elephant, human in the face

Grey, ancient, wise, empathic ...very strong

Guards, loves, and carries me

Through forests green.

He speaks in tones half-mumbled to

My sleepy brain

Now and again

But who he really is

And what he wants

Gently, firmly, finely ....

He will not say.