by Ken Robert on March 26, 2009
A Poem
What would you do if you were a shoe
and all day long some guy stuffed his foot in your mouth?
A foot, mind you,
covered in a sock
and constantly perspiring.
I know what I’d do.
I’d rub a big, fat blister on his heel
or I’d wait until he was driving
or having an important meeting
then pinch the bony part on top.
Or, I’d wear my treads smooth
and wait for a patch of grease or liquid or ice,
and then dart out from underneath him
and reach high, high, high
until he went tumbling on his head.
That’s what I’d do,
if I were a shoe.
A Journaling Exercise
Every day I write the list
Of reasons why I still believe they do exist
(a thousand beautiful things)
A Thousand Beautiful Things by Annie Lennox
Everyday we’re bombarded with the ugliness that exists in the world. I suppose the sorrow sells but it doesn’t do much to lift our spirits.
But, if ugliness is news, than beauty must be the norm.
I always think of Alice Walker’s line, “I think it pisses God off if you walk by the color purple in a field somewhere and don’t take notice.” Have you taken notice?
Create a space in your notebook, on your computer, or on a piece of paper you carry with you and begin to compile a list of beautiful things. Write down the things that cause your heart to pause or steal your breath away.
Here are some of mine:
- my father’s eyes when he was telling you something he truly believed
- a photo from my sister’s wedding album where she’s cupping my mother’s face in her hands
- the quiver in a friend’s voice the day he came to visit me and tell me that he had fallen in love, not only with a woman, but with her disabled son as well.
- my son’s anxious fidgeting as he awaited finding out whether or not he made the basketball team (He did.)
- a loose strand of hair on a woman’s cheek
- shared laughter
- the mix of colors in a pot of jambalaya
- my wife’s guffaw
- tough people learning to being tender
- tender people learning to be tough
- kids playing with blocks
Build your list as slowly as you need, but why not aim for a thousand or more? I’ve only got 989 to go.
What’s on your list?
—————-
Now playing: Annie Lennox – A Thousand Beautiful Things
via FoxyTunes
Tagged as:
Poems
by Ken Robert on March 25, 2009
A Poem
If I dug a ditch, it would have to be a deep one
and I’d have to dig it in such a way
that the earth slides like chocolate off a spoon.
I’d have to feel the handle of the shovel in my hands
and in my heart
and in my head
and in my bones.
I couldn’t just scoop and lift, scoop and lift, scoop and lift.
I’d have to move my hips
and shake my feet into the ground.
I’d have to push the air from my lungs
and out through my lips,
producing a stream of meaningful sound.
My huffs and puffs would have a rhythm
and my grunts a strained percussion
while the sweat beads boogie on my forehead.
A Thought
I’m surprised by how much material keeps flowing through my head, but I still live with the fear of running dry.
Another Poem
I tried to write a story
but my paragraphs all crumbled
and separated at the themes.
The periods dissolved and the commas faded,
the sentences cracked,
and several phrases were wrenched loose.
I tried to piece it back together.
A character here, a plot twist there,
but nothing held.
Then I swept my arm across the table
and sent the whole mess crashing to the floor.
I came back with a broom
and a plastic dustpan
to sweep up the debris,
then paused and took a look
at the poem on the floor.
Tagged as:
Poems
by Ken Robert on March 24, 2009
The other day I wrote about the fear of being feminine, how I was secretly a little embarrassed that so many women respond to my writing. Then an old friend, a female, left a comment on my blog about how I must be the brother she never had because we’re so much alike.
And that made me think of the sister I did have, the one that got away. Becky.
Becky died with Pneumonia as the result of the Hodgkin’s Disease that had wreaked havoc on her immune system. She was 28; I was a freshman in college. It was a tremendous loss that sent me reeling. My grades and I slipped downward together and I ended up letting an entire semester lay in ruins.
Becky was the member of my family who persistently told me I was good. Becky told everyone they were good, and when she said it, we all believed it.
When she left, I felt like I had lost the only person who believed in me and who didn’t wish to change me. (Note: This is the first time blogging has ever made me cry.)
And now, thinking about the comments and emails left by you ladies, I feel foolish for ever having worried about whether or not my material is too feminine, or masculine enough. All that it needs to be is human.
In the part of my heart that still holds onto the possibility that there really is some kind of magic in the cosmos, I’d like to think that Becky is somehow trying to send me a surplus of soul sisters who believe in me and support me the same way she once did when she was here.
So, you’ll never have to worry about me worrying, ever again, about the gender distribution of those who like what I’m doing.
Thanks, Michele.
Tagged as:
discoveries
by Ken Robert on March 23, 2009
Fears are funny things. You can have them and not even realize they’re fears, mistaking them for common sense. Everyone, for instance, knows you can’t make money doing something you love. At least, that’s what we tell ourselves, because admitting that we possibly could might mean we’d have to try and possibly fail.
One of the fears that’s kept me trapped is one I only recently recognized. I’m afraid of being feminine. It bothers me that the majority of people leaving comments on my blog are women, not because I don’t like women, but because I’m afraid of being seen as too soft, too tender, too (May I say it?) fruity. I’m not proud of these thoughts, but I’m glad to finally write them out loud.
I’ve always been secretly ashamed of my love of things that don’t meet conventional views of masculinity.
I love the raunchy rebellion of an AC/DC tune, but I also love the reflective ruminations of an Annie Lennox ballad.
I love the rough and tumble of sports, but I also love the softness of a baby’s skin.
I love the ribbing and name calling I engage in with my best buds, but I also love the heartfelt exchanges I share with my dearest friends.
I’ve long envied some of my mother’s and sister’s creative outlets. Scrap booking comes to mind, not because I wish to create little pink books with ribbons and bows, but because I see the creative potential and storytelling opportunities in piecing together words and images and textures in book form. My scrap books, if I were to make them, would have a different look, feel, purpose, and message, but the process would be much the same.
Why should men let peer pressure keep them from expressing themselves however they choose? What’s so courageous and strong about that?
Men are not sets of checklists; they are human beings. There are marvelous differences between the two sexes, but incredible commonalities exist as well. It’s too bad when we feel a need to diminish and destroy aspects of ourselves for fear of disapproval, especially when those aspects reside in all of us.
The flip side of my fear of being too feminine is the fear of being too masculine, the fear that the women who enjoy my work will be disappointed to discover I’m not always so tenderhearted. They might be shocked to hear the things I say and see the things I do when I’m out with the boys. But that’s the real me too.
Maybe that’s why men sometimes fear exploring certain kinds of creative expression. Maybe we’re not so afraid of being seen as feminine as we are of giving up our masculinity.
Perhaps we’re afraid all the parts of us can’t coexist because we’re chained to an either/or view of living. We’re either this, or we’re that, and never the twain shall meet. So, we set about denying and killing parts of ourselves in a misguided attempt to defend the others, when what the world really needs is everything we are.
The best solution I can think of is to just be ourselves, crazy little mixes of many things, and let others do the same. I think that would be damned interesting or – ahem – delightfully intriguing. Take your pick.
Tagged as:
discoveries
by Ken Robert on March 14, 2009
This is the thing that I do.
This is the thing that I do.
Others may not,
but I like it a lot,
and this is the thing that I do.
This is the thing that rings true.
This is the thing that rings true.
Some think it dumb,
but they’re not where I’m from,
and this is the thing that rings true.
This is the way that I do it.
This is the way that I do it.
Some think it’s wrong,
but it moves me along,
and this is the way that I do it.
This is the way that I’m heading.
This is the way that I’m heading.
Think me amiss,
but I follow my bliss,
and this is the way that I’m heading.
You are the person I’m telling.
You are the person I’m telling.
Told you my tale,
so you’d hoist your own sail,
and you are the person I’m telling.
Tags: poetry, mission
Tagged as:
Poems