Oh, Give Me my Naivete Any Day

Oh how naive we are!
We people of faith,
we God-believers,
Let us glory in our mental density!
Oh, how the erudite people of this world
do reign so smartly over us. Oh how they excel in their
proficiencies. Let them revel
in their victory!
Praise be to the savants who
have got it all figured out.
From geologic ages hidden in the mists of time,
they have creeped and crawled and
uprighted themselves from the muck and
the mire. They have propelled themselves in their
homo erectus mobilities and they have evolved
ever so incrementally
in their homo sapiens profundities
not to mention their post-modern
efficiencies
while we fairy-tale tellers grovel in our
religiosity and our neanderthal
naivite.
We stand stupefied
in amazement at the sight of sunrise/sunset
while we mumble prayerful phrases from
of old
from the mists of our antiquity
and the annals of our simplicity, such as:

Oh Lord, my God, You are very great;
you are clothed with splendor and majesty,
covering Yourself with light as with a cloak,
stretching out heaven like a tent curtain.

He lays the beams of his upper chambers in the waters;
He makes the clouds His chariot;
He walks up the wings of the wind;
He makes the the winds His, flaming fire
His ministers.
He established the earth upon its foundations.

Oh what simpletons we be!
So chauvinistic and simplistic to believe
such anthropomorphic allegority.
Oh what mumbly-peggish muck we maintain when we insist to proclaim
all this ancient metaphoric modality,
while nowadays
every educated erudite knows
that PreCambrian begat Cambrian, and all that Paleozoic jazz,
which worked itself into Triassic and Jurassic razzmatazz
and so forth and so on through Mesazoic, then Cenozoic
on into Paleolithic and Prehistoric Man
who persists in doing whatever he can
in the wake of Pleistocene ice
which is nice and will suffice
to explain a lot of glacial turbidity
and anthropologic historicity
instead of anthropomorphic naiveté.
So we see eventually we evolve along
without a prayer, not even a song
in the midst of Neanderthal and Cro-Magnon arcanity,
destined for humanic profundity
through Mitochondrial Eve,
not Adam and Steve
with no assistance from above
while meanwhile push cometh to shove
except an occasional shower or two
a shower for me, a bath for you.
And hey,
if I'm a simpleton in this my childish view,
what's it to you?
Huh?
At least I don't say um between every word,
stalling,
so as not be interrupted by my esteemed colleagues.
Please forgive my simple revery,
amidst my disprespecful levity
as I was a-saying,
'though maybe its more like praying:

You covered it with the deep
as with a garment;
The waters were standing above the mountains.
At your rebuke they fled, at the sound of Your thunder
they hurried away.
The mountains rose; the valleys sank down to
the place which You established for them.

When every school boy nowadays knows
that such Genesic biblical prose
is just some old Mosaic tale
of Noah, and Jonah in a whale?
Really?
Be that as it may, I insist as I persist:

You set a boundary that they may not pass o'er,
so that they (the floods) will not return to cover Earth.

When every school boy nowadays knows
that if we don't stop these carbon-spewing shows
then the polar ice will melt,
polar bear will lose his pelt
and all the coasts will flood
with climate change like spewing blood
and life as we know it will come to an end
only to begin again
just like the good book predicts
in spite of all our international edicts.
Selah.
And Rah ra, sis boom ba.
On the other hand,
ice is nice and will suffice.

Glass half-Full

The Bookends of Experience

As far as East is from the West,

and near to worst as to the best,

I have wandered lonely as a cloud

as we travel from some swaddle to the shroud.

Once we drove a stake in the ground and called it home;

now this morning wakes me here as sun is shone.

Situated now on continental sunrise heights

while recalling vivid island sunset sights,

and noticing here our stark and spindly leaves, these trees,

I recollect the wide and warm of ocean breeze.

Experience goes as far as mountains are from sand,

then circles back around to water, air and land.

Sometimes life is hard, you know;

at other times it's soft as autumn leaves make show.

As days turn dark,

so light doth continually toss out some spark

of hope or happiness or flexibility

that is yet assailed by despair or dearth or rigidity.

Experience comes as vividly as rising sun;

then memory renders it precious when day is done.

Doors of perception

open into windows of reflection

as present slips into the past

and future finds a fleeting foothold fast.

We amble here and there and everywhere;

we ramble now and then without care.

When reality and reflection mingle in the sands of time

imagination splurges into rhythm, sometimes in rhyme

when myself is beached upon the rock of time,

and our family finds itself with God and universe in line.

Glass half-Full

Man and God

Whose walls these are I haven't a clue;

it looks like somebody didn't know what to do.

Maybe there was some death, bankruptcy, or divorce

that set this place on a ruinous course.



What man has built but then failed to care

soon falls to ruin and disrepair,

while God's handiwork is faithfully maintained:

a rising, setting sun so constantly sustained.

Glass half-Full

People are Looking

People are looking for something,

where east meets west,

when bright west is best

and light from east

is least.

People are looking for something

where dark meets light,

oh what an amazing sight

when waning spark

wanes to dark.

People are looking for something

where light meets dark,

maybe go to a park

and watch set of sun,

night begun.

People are looking for something

where west meets east;

east was a brightening feast;

until west becomes best

for the day's rest.

Glass half-Full

Life is grand on the strand

As I wander lonely on the strand

in sun and sky and surf and sand

I find a place I had not planned

to encounter in this island land.

Now when we encounter something unplanned

which then becomes the matter at hand

and then it starts to make adverse demand

upon our life so carefully planned,

surely then we must renew our plan,

so we won't fall and be buried in the sand

and maybe fail again and again.

That's just the way it is:

ain't life grand?



Glass half-Full