tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3904613177254229522024-03-23T14:05:48.342-04:00The Far Side Banks of Jordan:Poems of longing and attachment from this side of the JOURNEY, with an eye toward the Other-Side. All of the poems here were written by N. Thomas Johnson-Medland. Feel free to use them as you wish, just credit the author and send me a copy.
tomjohnsonmedland@gmail.comN. Thomas Johnson-Medlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16768653008088452588noreply@blogger.comBlogger431125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-390461317725422952.post-37528573498039225332024-03-23T14:05:00.000-04:002024-03-23T14:05:01.024-04:00Wish to Remain<p>I do not want</p><p>to leave here</p><p>I only wish here</p><p>to remain.</p><p><br /></p><p>Abiding in the </p><p>shelter and also</p><p>in the shadow</p><p>of the Most-</p><p>High; the Almighty.</p><p><br /></p><p>Smoored together - </p><p>side by side -</p><p>with all the</p><p>scattered embers</p><p><br /></p><p>of the One.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3t9DPkghJrBu7DVx8PGciqL92_qp6Bjt7D02hZ7-uEQK6YykDKf5b4A-gqVwoNQJFRtHs7g2pjFwX5sGGJNg02E4shcy__WezqnhMxrUm0wIUPoJZw8gWfxaZNQjss5vjXPEQL91GC6wyy51cKz2iKeP4dyCrmAG4GDzT-6heS4ec9JDGJEz2aJBya4s/s1506/embers_Original.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1506" data-original-width="1130" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh3t9DPkghJrBu7DVx8PGciqL92_qp6Bjt7D02hZ7-uEQK6YykDKf5b4A-gqVwoNQJFRtHs7g2pjFwX5sGGJNg02E4shcy__WezqnhMxrUm0wIUPoJZw8gWfxaZNQjss5vjXPEQL91GC6wyy51cKz2iKeP4dyCrmAG4GDzT-6heS4ec9JDGJEz2aJBya4s/s320/embers_Original.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>N. Thomas Johnson-Medlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16768653008088452588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-390461317725422952.post-43165094109857376802024-03-09T14:44:00.001-05:002024-03-09T14:44:25.327-05:00In the Silence<p>Whisper.</p><p>Whisper.</p><p>Whisper,</p><p>in hushed and breathy</p><p>tones. The song from </p><p>all the ages, the </p><p>song that calls us </p><p>HOME.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe-zH7M9SrNkVqXsySFiZFaFqXyuY-matAFb3YIAh_hEpukdCnERnntzfM2jl7rxqwZmQ0K1IRsBQq5k81tRgvim-6wytVEwAvueVjLIGOMtP-TgqjeEP3d7BAm7lwtW3niXocwiAqJANbTbA34CRGy-FGjIO0VzuGEcbyP8MnXRfLyeUy9Xg2z8G3RVo/s736/IMG_7704.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="552" data-original-width="736" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhe-zH7M9SrNkVqXsySFiZFaFqXyuY-matAFb3YIAh_hEpukdCnERnntzfM2jl7rxqwZmQ0K1IRsBQq5k81tRgvim-6wytVEwAvueVjLIGOMtP-TgqjeEP3d7BAm7lwtW3niXocwiAqJANbTbA34CRGy-FGjIO0VzuGEcbyP8MnXRfLyeUy9Xg2z8G3RVo/s320/IMG_7704.png" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>N. Thomas Johnson-Medlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16768653008088452588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-390461317725422952.post-38103489834112754962024-02-13T18:48:00.005-05:002024-02-13T18:53:01.001-05:00For Zoe<p>I guess it’s time to stop thinking of you as small; with tiny features and oh so tiny hands that I can place in mine and cover to protect. Soon it will be time for you to shelter my aging hands in yours - pleasantly reversing the tides of time.</p><p>I guess it is time to stop expecting you to tell me of your teas with Piglet and with Pooh. Time instead to listen to new ways you are trying to approach your career and new ways your are looking for extending family bonds. </p><p>I don’t hear your faint giggle anymore, the one you would have given when your days were young and free. But I know I’d love your laughter now. I am sure. It’d be silent at first and then really loud. Stopping me dead in my tracks.</p><p>I don’t look for times to cook plastic eggs in plastic pans on tiny stoves anymore. It’s just I’ve stopped thinking about you and food - never really having sat knee to knee. I think you would probably hate to cook, just so I could do it for you when you’d stop by. </p><p>I can’t tell you why I’ve never written this before, but it is high time Zoe Alexandra. Twenty eight years is too long to go without a Valentine from your dad! All those things we never had, we had them in our hearts. We held them there in trust. </p><p>I’ll do better with the Valentine’s from here on out. It’s just taken this long to say these words to our daughter who left at Valentine’s</p><p>Love you for always,</p><p>Dad</p><div><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgascDc0eXS9dEh_M5ZmWrdyMIjAOKLEdjkmec7BFVVQfv4OgrVWUocMgCFw1dyvYgRi40_5T4iI_SGvcrZjFjIJRp32MHkN9nOgHHQQYL-69c8t2H323w6ObXJeX8iOwB39T-AWQCP9Q-Ovh38N_bVXHSAzgo8X1uWJJPseEtl4UchCPhJfddLQZzvAv8/s2048/zoe.jpg" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgascDc0eXS9dEh_M5ZmWrdyMIjAOKLEdjkmec7BFVVQfv4OgrVWUocMgCFw1dyvYgRi40_5T4iI_SGvcrZjFjIJRp32MHkN9nOgHHQQYL-69c8t2H323w6ObXJeX8iOwB39T-AWQCP9Q-Ovh38N_bVXHSAzgo8X1uWJJPseEtl4UchCPhJfddLQZzvAv8/w427-h320/zoe.jpg" width="427" /></a></div><br /><p style="background-color: white; color: #222222; font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><br /></p><div><br /></div>N. Thomas Johnson-Medlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16768653008088452588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-390461317725422952.post-37443399338754606692024-01-27T19:28:00.002-05:002024-01-27T19:28:52.007-05:00Social Cues<p><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">I turned the car away </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">from where we had been </span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">going to;</span><span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;"> </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">away so we might</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">hear the bells a little longer </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">and better </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">than we could </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">from where we were - </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">where we had been going.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">It dawned on me we have </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">lost our ways of social knowing; </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">our holding of a thing </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">in common while not directly </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">near each other or within</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">the sight of our eyes.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">The bells rang on for a</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">time far beyond my expectation,</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">some hymns played three </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">complete verses. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I was shocked</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">enough to find a church whose</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">bells were ringing let alone one</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">that played on for twelve minutes.</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Remember the days when we </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">all took in common and similar </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">events? <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Bells of churches and</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">schools, sirens on Saturday at </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">noon. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Whole communities set</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">to celebrating feast days and</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">holidays alike, clustered in their</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">neighborhoods and cultural</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">divides. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Not a bad gathering</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">by kind, but one to ease the burden</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">of unspoken language or </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">misunderstood social cues.</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">A way of making and securing</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Bonds with them who understand - us.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCALzSCu2tocLz7jfLcC0Eyuy99Jja8u-c_K_NKchAg3VVPlqqC3R9HvL-xbSaGWPrSR1bNvDWzi91vsYW4ENUtJ_PmxY3wNStLM1v9vOIF3kFFo-gtQNplA566gqG6rW77MqU63OdEqg_-NrZEDyxn8HM_a_uyfREOM-wKpbqyplPQliZYBuTKq0se6Q/s1200/IMG_5380.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1200" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjCALzSCu2tocLz7jfLcC0Eyuy99Jja8u-c_K_NKchAg3VVPlqqC3R9HvL-xbSaGWPrSR1bNvDWzi91vsYW4ENUtJ_PmxY3wNStLM1v9vOIF3kFFo-gtQNplA566gqG6rW77MqU63OdEqg_-NrZEDyxn8HM_a_uyfREOM-wKpbqyplPQliZYBuTKq0se6Q/s320/IMG_5380.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-feature-settings: normal; font-kerning: auto; font-optical-sizing: auto; font-size-adjust: none; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-variation-settings: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><br /></p>N. Thomas Johnson-Medlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16768653008088452588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-390461317725422952.post-91316066275127807792023-12-31T12:09:00.006-05:002024-01-01T13:05:21.373-05:00Algorithm of the Soul<p>Everything is spun out</p><p>of algorithms today.</p><p><br /></p><p>Efficiencies mined</p><p>at high velocity</p><p>from gaping chasms </p><p>of data and information.</p><p>One iterative distraction </p><p>after yet another,</p><p> bubbling up from</p><p>the mire of well</p><p>honed search engine</p><p>samplings and stored </p><p>memories of every key</p><p>stroke - somehow the</p><p>shadowy actions of </p><p>our very selves.</p><p><br /></p><p>And yet, the soul,</p><p>her algorithm leans </p><p>into a more focused</p><p>rendering. A simple</p><p>movement from</p><p>there to here, from</p><p>agitation to stillness,</p><p>from turmoil to rest.</p><p>Not attempting to predict</p><p>on the vast consumption</p><p>of endless code and </p><p>wire frames, but by a</p><p>centering down into</p><p>a oneness within.</p><p><br /></p><p>A gathering into a</p><p>core; a rooting itself </p><p>in the stability and</p><p>the motionlessnes</p><p>of identity. A </p><p>discernent that arises </p><p>from a waiting, and </p><p>a connection that</p><p>comes from a watching. </p><p>A discrimination that </p><p>emerges out of a </p><p>silence and a</p><p>homeostatic sense</p><p>the everything - and </p><p>she means EVERYTHING - </p><p><br /></p><p>belongs.</p><p><br /></p><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqOij6NCdwi1BTOkSVC6EV9FrKH3kcg69JhZ38CKytrxPQnBlFTRUaQhUS9B5V6MtVQAP0yWQ9wJUTmhyphenhyphenyF1w9niNJNiQv8OK6i7RP5OT9NEdHyGUaPESB814kTKfIP0LKOGEX-HDbBvcCtmE1yZ5zxYGPSzfUAiJD0FPjxjjEYmnVfuF3-XhjyQQRZ_k/s564/soul.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="556" data-original-width="564" height="387" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqOij6NCdwi1BTOkSVC6EV9FrKH3kcg69JhZ38CKytrxPQnBlFTRUaQhUS9B5V6MtVQAP0yWQ9wJUTmhyphenhyphenyF1w9niNJNiQv8OK6i7RP5OT9NEdHyGUaPESB814kTKfIP0LKOGEX-HDbBvcCtmE1yZ5zxYGPSzfUAiJD0FPjxjjEYmnVfuF3-XhjyQQRZ_k/w393-h387/soul.jpg" width="393" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><br /><p></p><p><br /></p>N. Thomas Johnson-Medlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16768653008088452588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-390461317725422952.post-32278555587941329942023-12-24T10:14:00.000-05:002023-12-24T10:14:00.796-05:00The Bench of Worship<p> How pleasant still </p><p>the day doth rise </p><p>from simple, seated bench.</p><p><br /></p><p>From here inside </p><p>this heart of mine, </p><p>the spirit ne’er to quench. </p><p><br /></p><p>And yet tomorrow </p><p>all again, I’ll </p><p>hunger all the more </p><p><br /></p><p>for what I found </p><p>today within </p><p>no manna may be stored.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO8mpL29xPl9b_9jYe4ZTHPAVrVw5d6F1kgAWdVRwif7BtbqYYKulFDJJSP2oV5l49T1qO5-gnjU8KrB7T1SUwdk2nk6vUUAuu9UuHAWNNsSNrU2_npfTxAJ31vZo78nWl9QUsXw_BeCxnSIsEmAom3ouXPmFjBqQ98cdAyZWzJRUtCNjx5-nHIMi72tQ/s4096/IMG_4486.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4096" data-original-width="2730" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhO8mpL29xPl9b_9jYe4ZTHPAVrVw5d6F1kgAWdVRwif7BtbqYYKulFDJJSP2oV5l49T1qO5-gnjU8KrB7T1SUwdk2nk6vUUAuu9UuHAWNNsSNrU2_npfTxAJ31vZo78nWl9QUsXw_BeCxnSIsEmAom3ouXPmFjBqQ98cdAyZWzJRUtCNjx5-nHIMi72tQ/s320/IMG_4486.jpeg" width="213" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>N. Thomas Johnson-Medlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16768653008088452588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-390461317725422952.post-65469615057937702622023-12-22T13:02:00.000-05:002023-12-22T13:02:00.585-05:00In The Stillness of The Waiting<p> When it seems</p><p>as if graciousness </p><p>has opened in you</p><p>a space - a space</p><p>deep within you - </p><p><br /></p><p>wait. Wait and see</p><p>how it proceeds. </p><p>Lean yourself into</p><p>the waiting to know</p><p>or to notice if this</p><p>opening is indeed </p><p>a way.</p><p><br /></p><p>For, if it is, stay </p><p>with it. Way leads</p><p>on to way; and way</p><p>shall open and you</p><p>shall have a path.</p><p><br /></p><p>Pieces of who you</p><p>are may call you</p><p>into a thousand </p><p>separate directions</p><p>telling you all the</p><p>places they will go,</p><p><br /></p><p>but stay with the </p><p>waiting a little </p><p>longer than seems </p><p>you should. Wait.</p><p><br /></p><p>That little extra</p><p>will give rise to</p><p>an opening. That</p><p>opening to another</p><p>and still yet another</p><p><br /></p><p>and you shall have</p><p>your path.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit7m2gtr4aNt07GMNw3rtiCE6WnGuom2HV9k-z9ey81ZzU7EKqeHDA8G7u5t2MFNfQ6bhGGneQbc9EH3l7hh1p2KVyLImpkGySJ4TyVmAYd-jnbgy9QbfFyuSCVlA-k6sIVUDYgBzaLqGtMwXBvJc-xJjpiQz6QcXTjqcII4EXnsEL0gSo-7CZTSckWdk/s4032/IMG_3061_Original.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEit7m2gtr4aNt07GMNw3rtiCE6WnGuom2HV9k-z9ey81ZzU7EKqeHDA8G7u5t2MFNfQ6bhGGneQbc9EH3l7hh1p2KVyLImpkGySJ4TyVmAYd-jnbgy9QbfFyuSCVlA-k6sIVUDYgBzaLqGtMwXBvJc-xJjpiQz6QcXTjqcII4EXnsEL0gSo-7CZTSckWdk/s320/IMG_3061_Original.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>N. Thomas Johnson-Medlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16768653008088452588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-390461317725422952.post-27015804406947094312023-11-22T18:04:00.003-05:002023-11-22T18:11:12.674-05:00A Hushed Ember<p> I can feel the smoothed</p><p>heft of the shovel handle</p><p>running its full length</p><p>from the metal blade </p><p>down to the butt as I let</p><p>it run through the circle </p><p>of my hand wrapped</p><p>gently around its neck.</p><p><br /></p><p>Smooth to hold with the safe</p><p>sharp ruts of its cracks running </p><p>the span - polished as it were - </p><p>where there are no splits.</p><p>A clearly kiln-dried</p><p>implement, sturdy and</p><p>rugged in its every cell.</p><p><br /></p><p>A whole different feel to</p><p>the isness of this wood than</p><p>there is to a damp and heavy</p><p>cedar stump rotting slowly</p><p>with the fruit of decay -</p><p>Panellus stiptichus or</p><p>Omphalotus nidiformus.</p><p>Foxfire by a common </p><p>Appalachian appellation -</p><p>or “faux”fire in the end.</p><p><br /></p><p>Somehow a fiery glow</p><p>is set loose across the surface</p><p>of the crumbling decomposition</p><p>of disintegrating wood - like</p><p>an invisible apple sauce running</p><p>down sides of old bark and</p><p>heartwood to the dirt. The spirit</p><p>of the grain perhaps in its final</p><p>throws of life. Burning bright </p><p>before it disappears completely.</p><p><br /></p><p>Watch for the final glow</p><p>of life, the signature presence</p><p>of a sensual undoing of all that</p><p>was. A whispered entropy and </p><p>a thundering crash announcing -</p><p>preparing the earth to</p><p>receive the final offering</p><p>of the tree. </p><p><br /></p><p>A fading glow;</p><p>an aria to concealment.</p><p>A hushed ember</p><p>burning out in hidden</p><p>quatraines.</p><p><br /></p><p>What is the faux-fire of</p><p>your life, of</p><p>your dying?</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2bWIxRusbzJcSFd7F8W8DWz0rA0Zm6mnBJTvHVPJJsmTf5plQooCOpz7F8_uwe8xGvL9-Bt46pn2IHcUheh8iBk6njie1pXw6PeKiSZjiqOcVmS1nc0SbexhlU6hWV8eCfq0fbmC8e9YGvyowe_Q4SOZExZyeYhkCKe0FTWic4Q9FzsQZLU_J04etqiI/s1200/IMG_2132.webp" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="1200" height="266" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2bWIxRusbzJcSFd7F8W8DWz0rA0Zm6mnBJTvHVPJJsmTf5plQooCOpz7F8_uwe8xGvL9-Bt46pn2IHcUheh8iBk6njie1pXw6PeKiSZjiqOcVmS1nc0SbexhlU6hWV8eCfq0fbmC8e9YGvyowe_Q4SOZExZyeYhkCKe0FTWic4Q9FzsQZLU_J04etqiI/w400-h266/IMG_2132.webp" width="400" /></a></div><p><span face="Karla, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; background-color: black; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: white; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic;">Image credit: </span><span face="Karla, sans-serif" id="isPasted" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: white; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre;"><a href="https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:PanellusStipticusAug12_2009.jpg" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="box-sizing: border-box; color: #abd037; text-decoration-skip-ink: auto;" target="_blank">Ylem, Wikimedia Commons</a></span><span face="Karla, sans-serif" id="isPasted" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: white; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre;"> (public domain)</span></p><p><span face="Karla, sans-serif" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; box-sizing: border-box; caret-color: rgb(255, 255, 255); color: white; font-size: 14px; font-style: italic; white-space: pre;"><br /></span></p><p> </p><p><br /></p>N. Thomas Johnson-Medlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16768653008088452588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-390461317725422952.post-33401021213292809332023-09-25T18:20:00.005-04:002023-10-23T12:10:00.145-04:00An Underground Railroad<p class="MsoNormal">I</p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">I dug a hole</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">and spoke a word</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">into that opened</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">ground. Planted it</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">that it may grow -</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">and upward make</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">it’s way - upward</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">toward the light</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">- that planted</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">word. To the</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">light.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">That word, that</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">first word, was</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">FREEDOM. </p><p class="MsoNormal">And, I</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">planted it again</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">and again from</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">our cellar door</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">down along the</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">deer-trod path</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">to the river;</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">that mighty river.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Ending at the</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">banks, ending at the</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">place the ferry</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">jostled up and</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">down on the surface</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">of that mighty river;</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">on the surface</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">of our Susquehanna.</p><p class="MsoNormal"> </p><p class="MsoNormal">II</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Others planted words - </p><p class="MsoNormal">their first words - adjoining </p><p class="MsoNormal">passages from their own</p><p class="MsoNormal">homes to ours. Slowly </p><p class="MsoNormal">moving North. To a </p><p class="MsoNormal">promised land of liberty;</p><p class="MsoNormal">a home of opportunity, </p><p class="MsoNormal">where free-men, and</p><p class="MsoNormal">free-women, and</p><p class="MsoNormal">free-children flourish</p><p class="MsoNormal">and abound - ALL.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">The words they planted</p><p class="MsoNormal">rang much the way did </p><p class="MsoNormal">mine; clear and heavy in </p><p class="MsoNormal">the air, lush and noble on </p><p class="MsoNormal">the lips. Whispered in the </p><p class="MsoNormal">ear as fare for the </p><p class="MsoNormal">transport given over the</p><p class="MsoNormal">invisible lines of hate, and</p><p class="MsoNormal">trackless features of the </p><p class="MsoNormal">seething fear of what men </p><p class="MsoNormal">did not understand - nor care </p><p class="MsoNormal">to repair - in the center of</p><p class="MsoNormal">their hearts consumed with</p><p class="MsoNormal">the greed of more and mine.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">III </p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Words like HOPE, TRUTH,</p><p class="MsoNormal">BELOVED COMMUNITY, </p><p class="MsoNormal">SHELTER, PASSAGE, HARBOR,</p><p class="MsoNormal">and LIGHT tumbled off</p><p class="MsoNormal">whispering lips on breathy</p><p class="MsoNormal">warmth into frightened</p><p class="MsoNormal">ears, behind hands to </p><p class="MsoNormal">hide the movement of</p><p class="MsoNormal">what was spoken. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Words planted in holes from </p><p class="MsoNormal">their homes to ours, soon to be</p><p class="MsoNormal">saplings and then to be trees,</p><p class="MsoNormal">winding over knolls and</p><p class="MsoNormal">pushing on through valleys.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">IV</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">A track of steel made up of</p><p class="MsoNormal">words respired on human </p><p class="MsoNormal">breath a railroad to freedom</p><p class="MsoNormal">whispered in soft, hush tones. </p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal">Across our land and in the hearts </p><p class="MsoNormal">of all our bettered souls; the angels </p><p class="MsoNormal">of our natured selves let linger on </p><p class="MsoNormal">their lips: FREEDOM. HOPE. </p><p class="MsoNormal">TRUTH. BELOVED COMMUNITY.</p><p class="MsoNormal">SHELTER. PASSAGE. HARBOR. </p><p class="MsoNormal">LIGHT. Freedom. Freedom,</p><p class="MsoNormal">yet again. Words once whispered</p><p class="MsoNormal">in the ear, gave passage t’endless</p><p class="MsoNormal">ride; upon the railroad unground</p><p class="MsoNormal">with safe abode inside. A slant</p><p class="MsoNormal">aperture of humble folk kept this</p><p class="MsoNormal">all just beyond the pall, but mumbled </p><p class="MsoNormal">were the same rich peals of freedom, </p><p class="MsoNormal">freedom all.</p><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzZDmuagIwqnx7FOWrd6U_jNMQ1bRemJkp99kSeY-l_v_6Bb5krjn9DB3QKJIWTOKANFGucjWUAXE_BWcuRlD4XbeJYbi8OBUbz47lSzKqOmNXgxoezChqNlPi8K8AWqYuYjsf0CLWrRWozI4rmZOHsEPAldVlQ83uN3LfyMLZVvEouIJQu9YHRebiAKk/s4032/IMG_6161_Original.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzZDmuagIwqnx7FOWrd6U_jNMQ1bRemJkp99kSeY-l_v_6Bb5krjn9DB3QKJIWTOKANFGucjWUAXE_BWcuRlD4XbeJYbi8OBUbz47lSzKqOmNXgxoezChqNlPi8K8AWqYuYjsf0CLWrRWozI4rmZOHsEPAldVlQ83uN3LfyMLZVvEouIJQu9YHRebiAKk/s320/IMG_6161_Original.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>N. Thomas Johnson-Medlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16768653008088452588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-390461317725422952.post-91759567496473838552023-09-11T16:38:00.004-04:002023-09-11T16:45:32.077-04:00Price of Poems<p>Have you seen the cost of poems</p><p>lately? They are going for six to </p><p>seven times what they did in the</p><p>mid to late eighties. Not that the </p><p>poets are making any more. But,</p><p>you'll not find one listed under</p><p>ten solid, sensual remembrances;</p><p>the kind where you close your </p><p>eyes and drift off to the smell of her </p><p>skin, or the rain on hot macadam,</p><p>or the butter and brown-sugared</p><p>sweetness of that fresh baked apple </p><p>pie. Some go for as much as thirty</p><p>orange and purpling-pink sunsets,</p><p>with the constant chatter of nut</p><p>hatches and chipmonks rising into</p><p>the trees from the rich, dank aroma </p><p>rising off the forest floor of humus. </p><p>Why, I saw one just today that</p><p>was "marked-down" to the astronomical</p><p>price of forty shooting stars, three</p><p>arora boreali, and one full blue-moon</p><p>hanging lazily over the sloshing fetch</p><p>of the river of your own choosing. </p><p>When I sit down and figure how much </p><p>goes into a poem, I guess they are</p><p>worth it. Just, imagine the infintessimal </p><p>number of encounters the poets have </p><p>had to corral into the poetic caves nestled </p><p>somewhere in their poetic hearts so they </p><p>might match those to a handful of words </p><p>spewing out of some infinitessimal galaxies </p><p>of word they have known, and witnessed,</p><p> and have been leaing into collecting since </p><p>from before were they were even born. </p><p>I mean, that's a lot. I guess it just caught </p><p>me a little bit off guard.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSp9298C-ZThKHNm7_Cy4ZXEz9F33bOFpuO0eVRIRtVFncRxTUnFPU229Ai_J3ZKbxHA1QLaxPN7ynvZkxcA_b5Z3VIYFuG4rBk_GbdBK8xb5ynPtNWhciRZg4TnLcHMUFdoxSZNwzmTePS9f9Mv0eKN1Y7UYNH0ZGJpppzxwuughJzSdOi1wwbOe59_M/s1146/poetry.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="527" data-original-width="1146" height="212" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhSp9298C-ZThKHNm7_Cy4ZXEz9F33bOFpuO0eVRIRtVFncRxTUnFPU229Ai_J3ZKbxHA1QLaxPN7ynvZkxcA_b5Z3VIYFuG4rBk_GbdBK8xb5ynPtNWhciRZg4TnLcHMUFdoxSZNwzmTePS9f9Mv0eKN1Y7UYNH0ZGJpppzxwuughJzSdOi1wwbOe59_M/w461-h212/poetry.JPG" width="461" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>N. Thomas Johnson-Medlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16768653008088452588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-390461317725422952.post-25441757222069842492023-08-06T11:13:00.002-04:002023-08-06T11:27:53.640-04:00 Sunday Morning Coming Down<p>Sunday morning standing </p><p>in line at Koch’s bakery with </p><p>my buster brown shoes </p><p>and my plastic card reading </p><p>number 11. Trying at looking </p><p>good enough and bored enough </p><p>to warrant the offering of a butter </p><p>cookie once we’ve paid.</p><p><br /></p><p>Wallpaper patterns of cows </p><p>and streams on every wall </p><p>surrounding me and replacing </p><p>the farms that used to be here </p><p>and are now covered over in </p><p>macadam. I sure did love that </p><p>sloppy butter cake, and cinnamon </p><p>twist donuts before going to church.</p><p><br /></p><p>The small bribes of childhood</p><p>linger long into the evening of</p><p>our lives, yearning for baked </p><p>goods before heading out the</p><p>door for Sunday School and </p><p>church never leaves us - ever.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ1VNPtOz5enfHDebYsZbG7W8IbuBuEP44nWiHhk83nJ3A0DUFcf5j_NM0C57Yv1uecSoHyYdclZ_WJuwgwRFK_2vjx9D0FBTsmW2d-xQUnqKxxDhFYFKQKQn5XrnNIVi0otof1JwH57qmuK-Dv1V8fKYoFCMuP-SMcIf8kaRdj8HklM8oX7lmjMkxuTQ/s1079/94D3E820-A246-42F0-9B8A-E78279CD0D5D.jpeg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1004" data-original-width="1079" height="298" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhJ1VNPtOz5enfHDebYsZbG7W8IbuBuEP44nWiHhk83nJ3A0DUFcf5j_NM0C57Yv1uecSoHyYdclZ_WJuwgwRFK_2vjx9D0FBTsmW2d-xQUnqKxxDhFYFKQKQn5XrnNIVi0otof1JwH57qmuK-Dv1V8fKYoFCMuP-SMcIf8kaRdj8HklM8oX7lmjMkxuTQ/s320/94D3E820-A246-42F0-9B8A-E78279CD0D5D.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>N. Thomas Johnson-Medlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16768653008088452588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-390461317725422952.post-29465406323654107402023-08-05T13:34:00.003-04:002023-08-05T13:34:52.962-04:00Heron<p> Flapping, flapping,</p><p>flapping their long </p><p>heavy wings;</p><p>flapping their long </p><p>heavy wings they lope</p><p>across the surface of</p><p>the waters into the</p><p>mystic fog that blankets</p><p>this moist morning air.</p><p><br /></p><p>So close, so close</p><p>the feathers come</p><p>to tracing their lines </p><p>along the river; so close </p><p>and yet not touching </p><p>the wetness just</p><p>below their edges. </p><p><br /></p><p>Not one.</p><p>Not one heron.</p><p>Not one feather.</p><p>Not one barbule. </p><p>Not one drop.</p><p><br /></p><p>Into the fog. Quietly </p><p>Into the fog. All.</p><p>And now,</p><p><br /></p><p>none.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4-cBp_ugVvYOsevmK-QbnWk58ZvvXdV_S98NbCBFKS-7FapezyUXNuZRyp9HZVIt37NzVnvMS5wHA23QRnPwlhSQlf4oTNTYrScNUHvpJT1v020IYQVAOeliYg7P7rv05RMclmopvbJ9Uz6DuDbyyTlGUPdCVlBtqRh5otWlpUQ_U7hkLPU9lBKyAtAM/s4032/A35EDD37-06EE-4A0F-970B-6AE3B40D2426.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg4-cBp_ugVvYOsevmK-QbnWk58ZvvXdV_S98NbCBFKS-7FapezyUXNuZRyp9HZVIt37NzVnvMS5wHA23QRnPwlhSQlf4oTNTYrScNUHvpJT1v020IYQVAOeliYg7P7rv05RMclmopvbJ9Uz6DuDbyyTlGUPdCVlBtqRh5otWlpUQ_U7hkLPU9lBKyAtAM/s320/A35EDD37-06EE-4A0F-970B-6AE3B40D2426.jpeg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>N. Thomas Johnson-Medlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16768653008088452588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-390461317725422952.post-53300176671291562262023-08-05T13:31:00.001-04:002023-08-05T13:31:39.041-04:00East on 22 - Just Outside of Newport<p><br /></p><p>I love the cozy way these great </p><p>sweeps of hills nestle themselves </p><p>to rest themselves into the Juniata. </p><p>Hollers and gaps swell and bloom </p><p>into mountains and rivers without end. </p><p>Sleepy giants lulling shoulder to hip, </p><p>head to thigh, wet with river dew of </p><p>the vast Susquehanna. </p><p><br /></p><p>One last bend opening up to an </p><p>expanse of cascading rocks and </p><p>bridges endlessly swimming to </p><p>the horizon and to Harrisburg.</p><p><br /></p><p>The land and rivers are so sensual </p><p>here; holding each other gently forever. </p><p>Unable and unwilling to release their </p><p>geologic grasp; their tectonic clutching </p><p>will rise and fall - undulating with abandon </p><p>and no regret into tomorrow again and again.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPbUZL7TDpGeZoMmhO107ntxR_dJilel1VKmseRMCYdD6ohkSOzD0LQJZQg6CW1R9oYpO4wms0Dv2PjCV3UUG0iqFQdlcn0HJibP2aiykbETH5VB1C5twcsNm1G2au1iNanw243xkb6zHzXScsk5rv42Rjkk-sL2FPuzuUxuzo_aHXX0--lND3Q5Wr-T8/s4032/ED6D3AA1-D75E-47A4-99A4-EB04A4ABAFE1.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPbUZL7TDpGeZoMmhO107ntxR_dJilel1VKmseRMCYdD6ohkSOzD0LQJZQg6CW1R9oYpO4wms0Dv2PjCV3UUG0iqFQdlcn0HJibP2aiykbETH5VB1C5twcsNm1G2au1iNanw243xkb6zHzXScsk5rv42Rjkk-sL2FPuzuUxuzo_aHXX0--lND3Q5Wr-T8/s320/ED6D3AA1-D75E-47A4-99A4-EB04A4ABAFE1.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>N. Thomas Johnson-Medlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16768653008088452588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-390461317725422952.post-88583991880503308992023-07-28T19:03:00.001-04:002023-07-28T19:03:04.534-04:00Blanket of My Days<p>The land lay</p><p>all about me</p><p>like a blanket</p><p>marked with places</p><p>and spaces I have</p><p>inhabited over the</p><p>vast stretch of my</p><p>days here on</p><p>this earth-place.</p><p><br /></p><p>This patch here</p><p>gave me a new </p><p>way to know </p><p>all about suffering,</p><p>that one there a</p><p>new way to cook</p><p>the trout I pulled</p><p>out of the stream,</p><p>the one here shows</p><p>how to give yourself</p><p>to a family, and this</p><p>one how to hold hands</p><p>with the dying. </p><p><br /></p><p>Each has a story and </p><p>an adenture to show</p><p>and at once the land</p><p>becomes a tapestry </p><p>which rises up and </p><p>which I may wrap myself</p><p>up and cuddle with all</p><p>I have known through </p><p>all of my days. Soothing</p><p>my being on itself.</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>Lessons and journeys,</p><p>people and places,</p><p>events and meanings </p><p>woven into the whole</p><p>of the fabric used. The</p><p>color and hue of each</p><p>warp and weft of each</p><p>strand and thread are </p><p>woven into what is </p><p>here revealed.</p><p><br /></p><p>The blanket is not</p><p>for warmth alone, </p><p>it is to open our eyes</p><p>as well. Functional</p><p>and aspirational have</p><p>always been at hand</p><p>with the textiles of life.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaP-eZ7bgGMt15hDvcBczMmqaQpl0drDNhctrYpPmriBp0k_rWy8F7xZhCyL3uHqVFV8KruPeLpqhHq2pkmPJrhZm0y3u6A4ARMzhTsDJaMu_Ct7mHvXsmLIKLQXEztnrl3bGqlMpiAj4LgqGN8L0lrgomGYEFZfdB_EnKBpLIZNzvucvHbuvFGoY1Wa8/s640/E568EC16-9F93-4C5C-94EB-E225915B433F.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgaP-eZ7bgGMt15hDvcBczMmqaQpl0drDNhctrYpPmriBp0k_rWy8F7xZhCyL3uHqVFV8KruPeLpqhHq2pkmPJrhZm0y3u6A4ARMzhTsDJaMu_Ct7mHvXsmLIKLQXEztnrl3bGqlMpiAj4LgqGN8L0lrgomGYEFZfdB_EnKBpLIZNzvucvHbuvFGoY1Wa8/w300-h400/E568EC16-9F93-4C5C-94EB-E225915B433F.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p>N. Thomas Johnson-Medlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16768653008088452588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-390461317725422952.post-21365986570371543802023-07-23T16:11:00.004-04:002023-07-23T16:40:02.148-04:00In What Places<p>In what places do</p><p>my words come in</p><p>to contact - actually</p><p>touch - with you;</p><p>along the axis of</p><p>what dreams are</p><p>you able to say,</p><p>“These words of</p><p>his are mine!” How</p><p>have you gathered</p><p>them together and</p><p>placed them just next</p><p>to - just beside - the</p><p>same sorts of things</p><p>you have collected</p><p>on other portions of</p><p>the journey you have</p><p>set yourself upon?</p><p><br /></p><p>I’d be a fool if I</p><p>felt my sayings had</p><p>any worth without</p><p>your avid capability</p><p>adding the layers of</p><p>meaning that complete</p><p>the beginnings which</p><p>my words began.</p><p><br /></p><p>I have started hundreds</p><p>of thousands of verses</p><p>and lines and curated</p><p>them for you to ingest;</p><p>for you to find ways to</p><p>bring them to ends.</p><p>There is no meaning</p><p>in them without a you</p><p>to give - and tend into</p><p>full-bloom. Get busy</p><p>and bring my words</p><p>to their rightful end</p><p>alongside all that you</p><p>have felt or held in such</p><p>a way as to say “yes,</p><p>and also this!”</p><p><br /></p><p>Was it the river, or</p><p>the bridge? Perhaps</p><p>the heron or mayfly?</p><p>A tear, a tree, the</p><p>mouldering earth?</p><p>A walk, an image</p><p>the familiarity of</p><p>clouds? The scent</p><p>of starfish above the</p><p>brine, the paddling</p><p>under on the webbed</p><p>foot of the duck, the</p><p>gentle caress of the wind?</p><p><br /></p><p>Look up long enough</p><p>to recognize this partnership</p><p>in poeisis, rest deeply into</p><p>the realization of our</p><p>soulful collaboration. For, where</p><p>these kens come closely</p><p>and touch, we have discovered</p><p>home for the very first time;</p><p><br /></p><p>we have a new newness</p><p>in all the old feelings,</p><p>all the old ways.</p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhcPXtL76h_K99uUfbvH68O_-gUxKCIlpTKtqMYpSyxcJ7FV9vV-pY_gglm6HR9eseS-mXyeM2vZ2ZIcz4OifHtigHP0S3ZewTMHA4qH9Ic-snXHqSuxPaF__YshdYa1hRtOhKMEuGNVQ7-P27UzhTk6q1Ucctizw6yMKOlBOVPlzLSJF5AY7qUh_Qmdg/s1066/tjm%202.jpg" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; font-size: 14px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1066" data-original-width="800" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhcPXtL76h_K99uUfbvH68O_-gUxKCIlpTKtqMYpSyxcJ7FV9vV-pY_gglm6HR9eseS-mXyeM2vZ2ZIcz4OifHtigHP0S3ZewTMHA4qH9Ic-snXHqSuxPaF__YshdYa1hRtOhKMEuGNVQ7-P27UzhTk6q1Ucctizw6yMKOlBOVPlzLSJF5AY7qUh_Qmdg/w300-h400/tjm%202.jpg" width="300" /></a></p><div><br /><span color="rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.9)" face="-apple-system, system-ui, BlinkMacSystemFont, "Segoe UI", Roboto, "Helvetica Neue", "Fira Sans", Ubuntu, Oxygen, "Oxygen Sans", Cantarell, "Droid Sans", "Apple Color Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Emoji", "Segoe UI Symbol", "Lucida Grande", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-size: 14px;"><br /></span></div>N. Thomas Johnson-Medlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16768653008088452588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-390461317725422952.post-64797647387497095972023-07-20T05:41:00.004-04:002023-07-20T05:45:03.212-04:00Our Dreams<p> Our dreams are our own</p><p>reflecting bowls of life.</p><p>Playfully they shine with</p><p>the matter all about us.</p><p><br /></p><p>Putting things in our view</p><p>that we may have otherwise</p><p>missed. Revealing things we</p><p>overlooked in the sunlight of day.</p><p><br /></p><p>Mixing this thing with that,</p><p>in an order we would not have</p><p>chosen; nor expected. Lining</p><p>things up catawampus for sure.</p><p><br /></p><p>The trick is not to judge or</p><p>rearrange them. But, to take</p><p>from them the messages of </p><p>the friend they truly are.</p><p><br /></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-X5lM6DFNmAfihqODjrP9IZi5x6Rtt9kfKzf4URmnfiQmIFOP1ObsbnsUu9Jjsxr1W8cA_exbORxxS5nFGMudWJkbfZlmeJCk3wltIuNA6GsR3zgUWPL7eqeCEeqlBz8I_qQOS3Aj6BQFM_WKkADcSHxjNQxMiC_yLFZo_WqznjfKWP9X3bZFxiFH5ME/s1800/bowl.jpg" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1800" data-original-width="1440" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-X5lM6DFNmAfihqODjrP9IZi5x6Rtt9kfKzf4URmnfiQmIFOP1ObsbnsUu9Jjsxr1W8cA_exbORxxS5nFGMudWJkbfZlmeJCk3wltIuNA6GsR3zgUWPL7eqeCEeqlBz8I_qQOS3Aj6BQFM_WKkADcSHxjNQxMiC_yLFZo_WqznjfKWP9X3bZFxiFH5ME/w320-h400/bowl.jpg" width="320" /></a></p><br /><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #050505; font-family: "inherit", serif; font-size: 11.5pt;"><br /></span><p></p>N. Thomas Johnson-Medlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16768653008088452588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-390461317725422952.post-41433171717909214462023-07-19T10:15:00.009-04:002023-07-20T05:39:48.463-04:00Fecundity Rising<p>or, Carpe Diem</p><p><b>><(((°> ><(((°> ><(((°> ><(((°> ><(((°></b></p><p><br /></p><p>The bouyancy of fecundity</p><p>is echoed across the surface</p><p>of the warm, low, and muddied </p><p>waters of the Susquehanna </p><p>in the rolling, splashing, roiling</p><p>of the carp spawning themselves </p><p>into all the tomorrows this river</p><p>may support the life of fishes.</p><p><br /></p><p>Their ecstatic thrashing in the</p><p>weeds of the balmy slurry just</p><p>below the eye of cormorants,</p><p>herons, and peregrines makes me</p><p>to pause and ask - as the sweat</p><p>pours down my back on my early</p><p>morning walk - amid the tussle in</p><p>their gyrations do they notice the</p><p>warming of the climate; or, do they</p><p>like us, not speak of the rising </p><p>temperatures - lobsters in a cool</p><p>pot of water, denying an ambient </p><p>demise - in good decorum.</p><p><br /></p><p><b>><(((°> ><(((°> ><(((°> ><(((°> ><(((°></b></p><div><br /></div><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR6gPp0_mWnvCREa-RmbTm4v9sFUNrYX-sF3WORqn6wPoH60Xn_dE9QnOEevZOFD21UlNIhvXHVR7fSnb4PeIb2RwShZFfYLOJ-vuDko8KmMjaXajN_o4sy4UJhai_SkaWQ6DCVtg4Hn-M20QLB01MQC-88R9ZVev9_GkGWm77WIGXGehu4kEyK9L7868/s1585/carp.jpg" style="background-color: white; clear: left; display: inline; font-family: "Segoe UI Historic", "Segoe UI", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1585" data-original-width="1268" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjR6gPp0_mWnvCREa-RmbTm4v9sFUNrYX-sF3WORqn6wPoH60Xn_dE9QnOEevZOFD21UlNIhvXHVR7fSnb4PeIb2RwShZFfYLOJ-vuDko8KmMjaXajN_o4sy4UJhai_SkaWQ6DCVtg4Hn-M20QLB01MQC-88R9ZVev9_GkGWm77WIGXGehu4kEyK9L7868/w320-h400/carp.jpg" width="320" /></a></p>N. Thomas Johnson-Medlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16768653008088452588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-390461317725422952.post-83380237070101211692023-07-17T06:49:00.007-04:002023-07-19T10:20:50.932-04:00Naive Hope; Hopeful Naïveté<p><br /></p><p>My naive hope, </p><p>my hopeful naïveté </p><p>lay</p><p><br /></p><p>in my unfailing</p><p>knowledge and</p><p>firm belief in:</p><p><br /></p><p>“how could it </p><p>not be so; how could</p><p>it be other?”</p><p><br /></p><p>Not simply that the</p><p>wave of all humankind</p><p>would rise and fall</p><p>together in its devotion</p><p><br /></p><p>but that it would</p><p>do so because</p><p>it was convinced;</p><p><br /></p><p>it did believe, it cried </p><p>with me in unison:</p><p><br /></p><p>“how could it </p><p>not be so; how could</p><p>it be other?”</p><p><br /></p><p>When our scientists and</p><p>journalists, prophets and</p><p>artists show us the latest</p><p>on climate change, or poverty,</p><p><br /></p><p>on systemic inequities, biases,</p><p>and injustices, on abuse, addiction,</p><p>and human trafficking I always</p><p>felt that the nature of solid research</p><p>and earnest discoveries would</p><p>open a space in each of us to say:</p><p><br /></p><p>“how could it </p><p>not be so; how could</p><p>it be other?”</p><p><br /></p><p>I had no way of sussing</p><p>the contrarian view that</p><p>was an inclination to refute,</p><p>a raison d’être of defiance,</p><p>a psychic coalition of denial</p><p>in the soul that our social</p><p>anger and unrest could</p><p>produce. A proclivity to name</p><p>truth as alternative facts.</p><p><br /></p><p>A cellular inclination toward</p><p>opposition, resistance, and non-</p><p>compliance has evolved in us</p><p>and metastasized in senseless </p><p>strings of refusals, rebuttals, </p><p>and refutals from the historic</p><p>turmoil that cascaded out from</p><p>the dumping of tea in the harbor,</p><p>and the countless rightings of the</p><p>oppressions of empire that swarmed</p><p>across the earth and seethed and</p><p>saturated deep into our core.</p><p><br /></p><p>We became stuck in our adversarial </p><p>pursuits. Our coping became our norm </p><p>until we railed against the truth. We </p><p>became unable to sustain our decisions </p><p>for the welfare of the common good. </p><p>Instead we rally around the theatrics of bravado and greed; never quite able to say</p><p>enough. Never quite able to regain our</p><p>center. Slavery, industry, human and civil</p><p>rights confused us and our homeostatic </p><p>capabilities to come round right. Like</p><p>a mob kicking a man on the ground, we</p><p>have swum out beyond the waves of reason.</p><p><br /></p><p>How might we sing together and chant</p><p>the refrain:</p><p><br /></p><p>“how could it </p><p>not be so; how could</p><p>it be other?”</p><p><br /></p><p>If we may learn how, perhaps we may</p><p>stem the climate disaster, inequality, and</p><p>inequity; the racism and the long thread</p><p>of biases and hate that run on like a </p><p>email gone awry and astray. </p><p><br /></p><p>I look for my hope to be fulfilled;</p><p>my naïveté to come to pass - that</p><p>we would long to live as sisters, be</p><p>hungry to live as brothers and plant </p><p>the garden of common good; harvest</p><p>the bounty of inclusivity, grow the</p><p>rows of equality, and compost the </p><p>remains into a love rich soil of our</p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p><p>tomorrows.</p><p><br /></p>N. Thomas Johnson-Medlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16768653008088452588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-390461317725422952.post-27591451944341104292023-07-06T07:44:00.002-04:002023-07-06T07:44:11.670-04:00A Siege of Heron<p><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Surprise, surprise, again</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">surprise I see an unknown</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">truth. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>As the fish rise to</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">fallen mayflies, and the sun </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">warms the surface of the</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Susquehanna, a cormorant </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">lunges up from the bottom </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">and takes to sky in flight,</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">the carp across the fetch</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">roll and roll and roll again.</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Yet, in a loop, one pass then</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">two an oddity awakens me at</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">once. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Slow, long, white flapping</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">wings beat the air. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Riding,then</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">gliding, then roosting in one tree;</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">nine white heron make themselves</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">known above the quarry. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>A flock</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">so new to my eyes I had to Google</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">for its truth. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>What grace came in</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">at rise of day with herons in a siege</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">take to the branches just above </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">the warming and hazy banks of</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">our river. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>All of our’s river. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Grace.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjcbQ3ycDj5sdOd87iaCV1FmdqDoN0YYAxGllFkOYU_lBhjqKhkQGMJHn-slycDC6p85Y79S8ip-onPEiqRowdL8buqdd66SsvUB8XPh9JVa7T87WIjgPda3PxgeO4E9s9qTiDd_Hac9KkAMNbKBmmg1cBhaxQuhjAIyxleGDh_sH1AXlkVDsYtVDpaqE/s2764/23302A8B-6ACD-4304-8833-1C577C160999.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2764" data-original-width="2679" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjcbQ3ycDj5sdOd87iaCV1FmdqDoN0YYAxGllFkOYU_lBhjqKhkQGMJHn-slycDC6p85Y79S8ip-onPEiqRowdL8buqdd66SsvUB8XPh9JVa7T87WIjgPda3PxgeO4E9s9qTiDd_Hac9KkAMNbKBmmg1cBhaxQuhjAIyxleGDh_sH1AXlkVDsYtVDpaqE/s320/23302A8B-6ACD-4304-8833-1C577C160999.jpeg" width="310" /></a></div><br /><span class="s2" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span><p></p>N. Thomas Johnson-Medlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16768653008088452588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-390461317725422952.post-44290536193237453522023-06-20T06:14:00.004-04:002023-06-20T06:16:29.776-04:00Your Raspy, Whispered Wisdom<p> Show us that silence can be </p><p>full of glory and awe. Show </p><p>us how to cast benevolent </p><p>glances into all eyes that come </p><p>to see, upon all faces that do </p><p>behold. Show us the meaning </p><p>of not possessing. </p><p><br /></p><p>Teach us about impermanence. </p><p>Whisper in our wax filled </p><p>ears that the true market </p><p>economies abide in the soul </p><p>as forgiveness and as love. </p><p><br /></p><p>Help us to see we do hold </p><p>time in our hands.That parting </p><p>words matter, and that we </p><p>should always watch people </p><p>til they become small on the </p><p>horizon - as they leave. </p><p><br /></p><p>And, to wish them well as </p><p>we wave. What else?</p><p>Remind us how to live, show </p><p>us how to die. We really could </p><p>be better at who we are, </p><p>but we need your raspy, </p><p>whispered wisdom.” </p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYGhecCXNJulNyekoFjEcmDd7Ew33VtK1LbKNTXEWGKMn_LTC300G_Lle3EpDKcyOf43HsgXTRnlxTFDHCpFXKIcScOIZitdJIPJROsQF5iZqPfvmOYVfWMiksR_FIqIVUbg2AOE9lNVY_SSjyU8wS19J5cZUeOMLCM3iVpF85XlxRPkGccfJJNBhb4h0/s400/raspy.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="320" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYGhecCXNJulNyekoFjEcmDd7Ew33VtK1LbKNTXEWGKMn_LTC300G_Lle3EpDKcyOf43HsgXTRnlxTFDHCpFXKIcScOIZitdJIPJROsQF5iZqPfvmOYVfWMiksR_FIqIVUbg2AOE9lNVY_SSjyU8wS19J5cZUeOMLCM3iVpF85XlxRPkGccfJJNBhb4h0/w320-h400/raspy.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>N. Thomas Johnson-Medlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16768653008088452588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-390461317725422952.post-5963756603506211962023-06-10T08:59:00.003-04:002023-06-10T08:59:12.574-04:00A Poem After Sleeping on A Cot in the Poconos<p>I am thinking about going up to my age and asking it: “What have you learned?” But I’m not sure that it would answer me. </p><p>Or, maybe, “Where are all the things you’ve taken from me - and hidden. Things like the words I need for my sentences while trying to sound intelligent. And also, the pills I had in my hand just a minute ago? Or, my spryness, and my non-arthritic limbs?” </p><p>But I think it would just turn its head and walk away disinterested; looking for something else to snatch and put up out of sight.</p><p>I might want to tell it that I’m appreciative of the many places I have been in life because it has afforded me the time. “Places from Half-Dome to Tinos, from Doctor’s Cove, to Skye”; but, I’m afraid it might not care. And that would be too much.</p><p>I’ve considered asking it, “Is there a better way to sort my supplements and medicines so they don’t take up so much room?” Or, “Does it ever remember me picking up teeny tiny things from the floor when I was younger and actually had nimble fingers?” But, I am sure it would say, “Blah, blah, blah.”</p><p>It’s easy to disregard it - my age - when I’m sitting in a chair or watching TV. But, just get up and move across the room (watch out for throw rugs which truly are a tripping hazard) and it screams with the voices of a thousand Sirens from the cavernous depths of Hades.</p><p>Ah, forget it. I’m not sure it’s worth the trouble. It’s too much work. Besides, I need to keep moving and find the liniment oil.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdQEQBLpfUIF1ejaWc0AanLGkF9Yte_JzIHKx6K71WMdzonRii7zacDeivkHYKNoNuU6xYdm7w9rKzZQzLW_UKTL-qeew7P9XnSu7uSj-gr-dFjWuQVdurVFGlATsCRAtJH3c3UsTh-aPkOqY9ICvkvCekRhWW86FZzI535QPr7W7eJEiy2M1DHG8u/s4032/BD1FF070-107D-4AD8-B1AB-01E5CCA4924D.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdQEQBLpfUIF1ejaWc0AanLGkF9Yte_JzIHKx6K71WMdzonRii7zacDeivkHYKNoNuU6xYdm7w9rKzZQzLW_UKTL-qeew7P9XnSu7uSj-gr-dFjWuQVdurVFGlATsCRAtJH3c3UsTh-aPkOqY9ICvkvCekRhWW86FZzI535QPr7W7eJEiy2M1DHG8u/w400-h300/BD1FF070-107D-4AD8-B1AB-01E5CCA4924D.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>N. Thomas Johnson-Medlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16768653008088452588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-390461317725422952.post-88189638733351170612023-05-20T07:37:00.003-04:002023-05-20T07:37:58.144-04:00Walt,Walt,Walt<p> <span style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody; font-size: 17px;">I am not sure, Native Son, how you sat at bedside for so long. Tending the wounds of the dying, writing home letters for the limbless and the weak.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">The war was no longer a Glorious Trope that would be over in 90 minutes, or even 90 days. </span><span style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">It was a tragic national conflagration that would stretch out all across the soil, and set itself to haunting us forever.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">And yet, there you sat, feeding people puddings, bathing their limbs and wounds, dignifying their departure‘s with notes of love and affection to their mothers and their fathers. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>To their wives, brothers, and sisters.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">"My dear wife, you must excuse me for not having written. . . . have not been very well. . . this letter being penned by a friend who is now sitting by my side."</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Most people never even knew of these, your holy acts. <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Most have never read AT ALL the Sacred Mission you took on.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">“Many sick and wounded soldiers have not written home to parents, brothers, sisters, and even wives . . . for a long, long time," </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">"Some are poor writers, some cannot get paper . . . many . . . dread to worry the folks at home — the facts about them are so sad to tell." </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">“I always encourage the men to write, and promptly write for them.”</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">A BALM our nation needed then, A BALM our nation needs this day. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 22px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;">Walt. Walt, Walt, THANK YOU.</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRLa96snIZUbxn3yIsem6awrJ9Thi1xfl_HKwtZcKVXqnjV0fMhZpAbojFB0tDXr6k6qjQabaN3p1FdX35XLF4VHx4irXEFr9WQQL4Tb_po1HGKYnVTra1rRDhJtADF1ZTLBi-aYk4UVcrZmuPA69eu69TzbDpr-6n9U65rLxpX6zayCC_tTQ800cb/s639/64622D8C-D2F6-4E9F-A437-8844F04BD007.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="639" data-original-width="480" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRLa96snIZUbxn3yIsem6awrJ9Thi1xfl_HKwtZcKVXqnjV0fMhZpAbojFB0tDXr6k6qjQabaN3p1FdX35XLF4VHx4irXEFr9WQQL4Tb_po1HGKYnVTra1rRDhJtADF1ZTLBi-aYk4UVcrZmuPA69eu69TzbDpr-6n9U65rLxpX6zayCC_tTQ800cb/w300-h400/64622D8C-D2F6-4E9F-A437-8844F04BD007.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><br /><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1" style="font-family: UICTFontTextStyleBody;"><br /></span></p>N. Thomas Johnson-Medlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16768653008088452588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-390461317725422952.post-72042170859175842722023-05-05T06:45:00.002-04:002023-05-05T06:45:31.004-04:00All I Know, YETTA<p>It was no surprise to me, </p><p>Yetta, when I discovered</p><p>you in the faint tracery lines</p><p>and vague morning frosts</p><p>of our family tree.</p><p><br /></p><p>A name that gives wing to</p><p>my soul. Ah ha.</p><p><br /></p><p>I could never have known - </p><p><br /></p><p>with the limited words and </p><p>absent family stories about you</p><p>and other Speiers in our past - </p><p><br /></p><p>there are cellular reasons</p><p>I love Talmud and the tales </p><p>of the Hasidism. Ah ha. </p><p><br /></p><p>There are hematological side-trails </p><p>leading straight to shokeling and </p><p>niggunim - the resessive genes in</p><p>me for the swaying and the melody </p><p>muttering ecstasies of prayer. Ah ha.</p><p><br /></p><p>That cooking chicken soup -</p><p>the way I have always done -</p><p>was not mine alone. More a</p><p>mystic strain from the deep </p><p>tune my soul was silently </p><p>humming. A culinary thrum </p><p>from my lineage. Ah ha.</p><p><br /></p><p>I love you Yetta Speier. I have</p><p>always loved you. Even before</p><p>I knew you were A THING in</p><p>the long line of people at my</p><p>back throughout all time - my </p><p>caravan of nomads across space</p><p>and time. You showed me the </p><p>hidden precariousness of our</p><p>days on this earth-place and</p><p>how to shine in that trechery. Ah ha.</p><p><br /></p><p>Dare I say it? You opened me</p><p>to the raw wonder and rapturous</p><p>truth that our lives without our</p><p>people and their ways - no matter</p><p>who our people may be - are as</p><p>shaky as a fiddler on the roof.</p><p>This and my indefatigible love</p><p>of Heschel are yours in me -</p><p>Yetta Speier. Thank you.</p><p>Thank you. Thank you.</p><p>Ah ha.</p><p><br /></p><p>Now it is all clear.</p><p>Ah ha.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi61KJ3Tx2WC_FQ8GqZlmqLgH7wnLqKZzKxYTOkVkBvA8S53TMowgQFIrlVeIAkxrHdPe5tOat4qe2zGtdUdy1jWPHW576DxYCtvfDcPjYq1XyWpphitX-Ko3bylh8bj9lXKwLweUMv3LBa-mWRLLoCDmh49LFXJExETY4OZaFehgwxdsEC6mHi5gIk/s333/yetta.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="333" data-original-width="250" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi61KJ3Tx2WC_FQ8GqZlmqLgH7wnLqKZzKxYTOkVkBvA8S53TMowgQFIrlVeIAkxrHdPe5tOat4qe2zGtdUdy1jWPHW576DxYCtvfDcPjYq1XyWpphitX-Ko3bylh8bj9lXKwLweUMv3LBa-mWRLLoCDmh49LFXJExETY4OZaFehgwxdsEC6mHi5gIk/s320/yetta.jpg" width="240" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>N. Thomas Johnson-Medlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16768653008088452588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-390461317725422952.post-73958380168912882662023-04-29T08:21:00.004-04:002023-05-09T12:10:02.864-04:00When You Surrender<p>And while I do not</p><p>remember the intricacies </p><p>of his answer to her </p><p>question of, "how do you</p><p>know when a poem is finished?"</p><p><br /></p><p>I do remember mine to </p><p>him later that night,</p><p>and to her in the morning.</p><p><br /></p><p>"It is when you surrender."</p><p><br /></p><p>In at least both of those</p><p>meanings, I suppose.</p><p><br /></p><p>The cool milky scent of</p><p>my skin - from taking </p><p>the air on my morning</p><p>walk across the bridge</p><p>across the river - ran down </p><p>my face to my belly and</p><p>thighs, to my feet and my</p><p>toes in hot rivulets of </p><p>water cascading over all my </p><p>fleshy body from the shower</p><p>nozzle overhead. And all</p><p>that beauty and all that </p><p>memory was relived again</p><p>in its flow to the drain.</p><p>And a smiled a sigh.</p><p>Remembered.</p><p><br /></p><p>There. That is finished.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDlCX66o6BbXq5Kz7p7-uiCheYlnunhOKuU9EoOCqPUoDFg7ziaChdafmoCsVlElNuLRimxaOUzvu06htJ2HP1lHspACkFzr5_2e7y8MHNgLgsi6oc16vUo-iDIjKO9HPlRg4IxysIQU_KodqeFD0Ij7VvJgFuJV0eeqvPIqL_lhrOXwd0sT5yHjFb/s1898/bridge.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1424" data-original-width="1898" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjDlCX66o6BbXq5Kz7p7-uiCheYlnunhOKuU9EoOCqPUoDFg7ziaChdafmoCsVlElNuLRimxaOUzvu06htJ2HP1lHspACkFzr5_2e7y8MHNgLgsi6oc16vUo-iDIjKO9HPlRg4IxysIQU_KodqeFD0Ij7VvJgFuJV0eeqvPIqL_lhrOXwd0sT5yHjFb/w400-h300/bridge.jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p>N. Thomas Johnson-Medlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16768653008088452588noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-390461317725422952.post-16315712112514005942023-04-22T18:04:00.004-04:002023-04-22T18:08:21.157-04:00Jornada del Muerta<p>The route of the</p><p>dead man was</p><p>the perfect place</p><p>for TRINITY – the </p><p>unleashing of the </p><p>undoing of the</p><p>modern world just</p><p>two hundred and ten</p><p>miles south of</p><p>Los Alamos.</p><p><br /></p><p>We wonder why</p><p>our world has </p><p>harvested such anger</p><p>and violence. Why</p><p>we have so great</p><p>a gap between </p><p>the generations young</p><p>and old – more than </p><p>usual. Perhaps why </p><p>we have lost our sense </p><p>of weapons control </p><p>across our land.</p><p><br /></p><p>Hoisted one hundred</p><p>feet above the sand</p><p>in a tower called the</p><p>“gadget”, 18.6 kilotons</p><p>of death were poured</p><p>out on the earth - </p><p>vaporizing and melting</p><p>everything around</p><p>into the pretty green </p><p>glass - made of sandstone,</p><p>clay, and the lightning</p><p>of the gods - we call trinitite.</p><p><br /></p><p>Could the horror of </p><p>our potential have been</p><p>set that day and the limit</p><p>of our despair been wired</p><p>into all who would come</p><p>after? So that we would</p><p>have no hope of hope</p><p>and see no error or end to</p><p>the killing of ourselves in </p><p>countless other ways. We </p><p>built a place that would </p><p>convert all space into the </p><p>route of the dead man.</p><p>A place that would make</p><p>mass shootings seem a</p><p>trifle and our broken</p><p>spirit seem the norm. All</p><p>the troubles of the world</p><p>pale and are meaningless</p><p>in a world where the route</p><p>of the dead man is the</p><p>yellow brick road. Our</p><p>souls have become undone.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzgrFe-kDRqgJgCYbElWhYWiPPaankNqufwtwFNp-oqNCBkHJ7dU-aHhTuq6TEvEie7SwrFZHWAbBz1WpcMvOtIZn8xGeTI6Q-9tpfs4hN1qeGEYcbmSsqv-pG4fO7AHTvMqCDyj5bJCcnCZ57bRPHD2-ocGpgGoJsT4kRitpXd-o49YKAO2kERHYQ/s500/JORNADA.jpg" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="373" data-original-width="500" height="299" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgzgrFe-kDRqgJgCYbElWhYWiPPaankNqufwtwFNp-oqNCBkHJ7dU-aHhTuq6TEvEie7SwrFZHWAbBz1WpcMvOtIZn8xGeTI6Q-9tpfs4hN1qeGEYcbmSsqv-pG4fO7AHTvMqCDyj5bJCcnCZ57bRPHD2-ocGpgGoJsT4kRitpXd-o49YKAO2kERHYQ/w400-h299/JORNADA.jpg" width="400" /></a></p><p>***IMAGE FROM THE NATIONAL PARK SERVICE</p>N. Thomas Johnson-Medlandhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/16768653008088452588noreply@blogger.com0