Shoes………..

October 24th 1994

Sometimes the things that give us the blues
We leave in our closets, our history, like shoes.
We see an old comfort, now worn but still fitting.
Almost unnoticed, but there they are, sitting.

Of them we rid ourselves slowly, no fanfare,
Recalling the best, a new and matched pair.
The roads that they took to wear them that way,
We paved ourselves, by designing each day.

So when we’re on new roads, impassable now,
And know that our old shoes made it somehow,
Why do we look back on old roads and stop,
Waiting for that old pair’s mate to drop.

We can go on without knowing the way,
Our old shoes of tomorrow will guide us today.
We love them and keep them, those weary old shoes,
But their comfort keeps waning; they are after all, blues.

They’ll probably never wear out where they are,
We often don’t look in our hearts that far.
But someone can give us a brand new pair,
And never resign us to looking in there.

Some people do this, for love and the chance,
To make old shoes new ones that still want to dance.
And never allowing their pair mate to drop,
On down the new road, unable to stop.

See ya

While others may enjoy this typical religious day called Easter with a large gathering of family to share an Easter Ham, I prefer the original tribal fare of my own culture. We celebrate Wester, with the eating of ribs. Barbequed ribs, with plenty of sauce, which represents the blood and toil of our forebears.

Strangely, the animal of choice is the same in both cultures. However, Wester celebrants acknowledge more forthrightly those who came before them and are closer to their roots. Others may break bread in long suffering self-delusional efforts to “make peace.” We who celebrate Wester know that if you are to make peace, often you have to break a few bones along the way.

Thus, the ritual of eating ribs recognizes this sacrifice, that many of our ancestors and their opponents had to endure. We break bones with each bite of ribs we consume, until, like those who preceded us, there is nothing left. Nothing but the sated appetites of those who stand here today, in the present; not some afterlife which reflects nothing of the sacrifices we have made while we were here, “on earth, as it isn’t in heaven, hallowed be thy name.”

Incidentally, Wester is the recognition that the sun goes down each day. And when it does, we rise.

Conversations….. 

October 15th, 1994

“Threads, thread, needle and thread,
Where’s that idea I’d left in my head?
I hope you don’t mind it, but I couldn’t find it,
So why don’t we just start over instead?”

“Fine, fine, that would be fine,
‘Long’s we remember the ones that were mine,
Otherwise, often and likely as not,
Mine are the threads most often forgot.”

“Sure, of course, whatever you say.
I understand you could feel that way.
I’m not regretting what we’re forgetting,
As long as you tell me: What did we say?”

by

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