Establishing Routine

When I first started Blogging it was a response to being challenged to do so.  I decided that committing to write something every day for 30 days was enough to either establish the habit or to decide that it was not for me.  The result of that commitment led to writing a couple of columns for a trade publication and to writing and publishing a small book of poems and illustrations (the book can be found in a small ad at the top of my Blog page).

There have been times through the years since that beginning that I have lapsed for extended periods for various reasons.  Sometimes it was due to significant life changes such as a job change or a move or both.  At other times it was likely due to discouragement resulting from a lack of readership.  I had to learn, or re-learn, that I was doing this for myself and not for others.  The discipline of writing is certainly a solitary pursuit, and most writers never achieve fame or a great following.

Now that I have entered into a time of retirement the realization that one of my strengths through the years was to write has prompted me to reignite the daily discipline of writing.  That doesn't mean that I will Blog every single day, but I do intend to write something on a regular basis and am attempting to make it a part of my established daily morning routine.

Retirement really isn't something that I intentionally planned for this particular time.  I expected it to be a few more years away.  It happened though and making the best of it is my current focus in life.  The symbolism associated with Spring and the budding trees along with early flowers pushing up through the soil seems especially relevant to where I am in life.  I am choosing to make the best of it in spite of all the challenges which seem to be working in opposition.

Yesterday we noticed the first of the Irises blooming along the road winding through the trees to our house.  They seem to be randomly situated as if they were wild, however I suspect they are the remnants of a deliberate planting by some previous owner of this small corner of the world.  Irises are common throughout the world and prominently appear in artwork.  They have been used for medicinal purposes by many people seeking natural cures -- especially for stomach cramps by making a tea of the dried roots.  Certain varieties are used to help filter water.  The plants remove many particulates and chemicals, clarifying the water.  Mostly, I just think they are a beautiful, showy flower.

Resolutions, Intentions and Wishes

In this new year in which my sole resolution was to write more, I'm struggling to write.  I suspect the old boy in the image above might have some pungent commentary regarding my resolution.

What is the reason that causes us to fail in implementing our resolutions?  I suspect it is simply the root of the word itself -- resolve.  We fail for lack of resolve.  That leaves two solutions: 1) don't make resolutions for which you haven't already developed the resolve to complete or, 2) develop some resolve!

I think all of us have good intentions.  That is what most lists of New Year's resolutions is in reality, a list of good intentions.  I'm sure there is a legal definition of intent because it is a word used in certain criminal charges such as "intent to kill."  I'm thinking of the word more in the way of a wish perhaps?  We all wish to be better and to do the things we know we should do, but we fail to back that wish with "intent" or, better yet, "purpose."  We merely think that by wishing a thing it will be so.

I suspect many of you who made resolutions for the new year are experiencing similar struggles with executing on those "wishes."  I believe the best approach is to adopt a resolution of working on one thing at a time, throughout the year, throughout your life.  We all know of areas in which we need to improve.  For some, it might be a simple bad habit such as failing to take out the trash on a regular basis.  For others, it might be some destructive behavior such as smoking, or eating too much.  The key is to select a single area for improvement and to focus on changing your attitude and your behavior in incremental steps.  Set goals regarding that behavior.

For me and my goal of writing, it is to set aside a period of time each day in which I write.  I already have that time and you are reading the result.  This is because of a resolution that I set about 1 1/2 years ago.  The next step in that journey of "writing more" is to set aside an additional period of time each day in which to write -- not merely just to assemble words on a blank page, but to focus on something a little more in-depth than the daily post to this blog or, journal if you prefer to call it such.

It might not actually seem to be contributory, but I have read more the last couple of days.  Reading what others have written can help develop one's own writing skills.  The words of others provide examples of structure, style and content which may or, may not be applied to one's own work.  One of the things I am reading currently is a diary kept by Captain Harry C. Butcher, USNR, called "My Three Years With Eisenhower."  It covers the years 1942 through 1945.  If you know anything of history, you will immediately associate that period of time with Eisenhower's role in World War II as the Commander of Allied Forces in Europe.  If you are a student of WWII, I highly recommend the book.  It is highly readable.  My daughter loaned it to me some time back and I am just now getting around to reading it.

Anyway, back to resolutions, intentions and wishes; it is still early in the year.  Don't set them aside just yet, but realize that changing habits is difficult.  The best approach is the incremental one.  Also, expect to fail, but understand that failure, in the case of changing habits at least, doesn't need to be permanent.  It's like falling down; don't just lay there on the sidewalk complaining, get up, brush off, staunch the bleeding and get back to it.  We all carry scars.

Now, to schedule additional writing time today....

Puzzles, Grammar and Life

It seems that we have developed a tradition of putting together a puzzle during the Christmas/New Year Holiday.  We've missed a few years, but most years we have managed it.  Any guesses as to what the picture might be this year?  I will try and remember to post an image once completed.

I grew up with puzzles and have always enjoyed them.  I might even have a few that my grandchildren now enjoy when they come to visit.  They teach things like patience and observation.

People attempt to assemble puzzles by various approaches.  My preference is to 1) assemble the border and then 2) focus on specific, recognizable features on the interior.  I like to place those features in the approximate correct location within the borders as they come together.  I then connect them as pieces are added.  Frequently you will see me with a piece in hand, 3) scanning the picture on the box for a match of color and distinguishing marks which then lead me to place the piece near where it belongs in the assembling puzzle upon the table.  Some people start with step two and others with step three.

There are lots of things for which puzzles can be a metaphor (I think that's the correct term).  Life is like a puzzle -- or, a bowl full of cherries in some movies.  We spend our developmental years figuring out all the pieces and beginning the assembly process.  The last piece falls into place as we take our last breath.  Our careers are also like a puzzle in some ways.  The big differences between life, careers and puzzles is that we don't know what the picture will look like when completed until they are almost over.  Even then there can be twists and turns that change the final view in dramatic ways.

I like the idea of a puzzle with a constantly evolving outcome.  Once a couple of pieces fit into place, the picture changes and finding the next piece is a completely new challenge.  I think that is often how life unfolds.  We usually can't see beyond the next piece.  We also sometimes struggle to see where the current piece fits in our overall plan.  It doesn't mesh with the mental image we have developed of the future.

I think that in life and careers, just like in puzzles, we need to learn to focus on the present.  We need to be mindful of the possible futures and prepare for them -- especially those we would like to develop -- but, we should focus on the piece in hand.  When we place it correctly within the overall framework, it makes the next piece fall into place more easily.  If it is handled poorly -- placed incorrectly -- the pieces connecting to it are more difficult to assemble.

Upon further reflection, my example of a puzzle is a simile rather than a metaphor -- at least in the way I used it.  If, instead, I had said that life is a puzzle, it would have been a metaphor.  Simile = "like", metaphor = "is" is the rule.  I've always struggled with that one.  Maybe I've puzzled over the differences.  I don't know.  This correct grammar stuff is frustrating -- just like the piece that doesn't seem to fit anywhere....

Trees and Imagination

I've always been intrigued by trees.  It probably is from growing up in an area where the only trees were planted by someone.  When I run across a tree like this ancient Bois d'arc, I understand how they could inspire writers to create characters from them.

Imagine yourself walking through the woods around midnight on one of those nights when the moon is full and bright; the crooked limbs of the tree are shadows across the sky.  An owl hoots nearby and something is skittering around in the dry leaves and grass.  Suddenly, your sleeve is snagged by one of the small branches that overhangs your pathway and you find your clothes hung on the stubby remains of a twig broken from the limb.  In your struggle, you make enough noise to startle some larger creature which goes crashing off through the underbrush.

The next day, when you return to the site of the excitement to retrieve the tattered remains of your clothing, you realize that the tree was completely harmless, although your clothing was ruined.  For the writer, it is fuel for the imagination.  I'm apparently only a so-so writer because, yes, it caught my imagination, but as I read my description, I find it falls far short of what J.R.R. Tolkien or, Washington Irving accomplished.  I need to work on that.

A sense of being watched was overwhelming as Ichabod stumbled along the forest path.  The slightest sound would cause him to start as though a giant beast was about to pounce upon him.  The distant hoot, hoot-hoot of an owl was answered nearby followed by the rush of wings swooping down and talons snatching the cap from his head.  He dove to the damp ground, disturbing the moldering leaves to release their pungent odor of decay.  Fear overcame sense as he sprang to his feet, dashing directly into the drooping moss-covered branches of an ancient tree which enfolded him in springing, clinging, hairy arms.

The stone marker beside the road reads, "Here lies poor Ichabod, dead of fright."

U-turn for a Longhorn

Okay, I admit it; we stopped, turned around and drove back to take a few pictures of the Longhorns.  They were some impressive specimens of the breed and the one above was displaying an almost perfect classic set of horns.  I would bet they end up on someone's wall one of these days.  For now, though, they create a challenge for this old boy to move around among the trees.

This animal is carrying quite a bit of age to have horns of that size.  They also appear to have been trained.  Many raisers of Longhorn cattle will use horn weights to influence the growth pattern over time.  Completely natural growth can be a little more unpredictable with some turning down, or maybe they just aren't symmetrical.  The ones on this old steer are almost perfect.

When I think of Longhorns I see them in my mind on the trail up through the Plains where there isn't much in the way of natural obstacles for them to maneuver around except the occasional muddy river or, creek.  In this part of Texas, and down in the central and southern parts of the state where the trail drives originated, there was lots of brush, cactus, trees, rocks and other natural impediments to their travel.  They had to be constantly aware of the width of those ornaments in order to navigate effectively.  Yeah, it seems like a simple thing, but I hadn't really thought about it.

I find myself struggling through the woods and I'm not nearly as wide as those massive horns although I'm certainly wider than I once was.  I'm surprised he doesn't have a few tree branches hung on them that he likely tore off while passing through the brush.

I suppose this post isn't particularly deep, but sometimes I just need to record my meager thoughts in order to preserve them for the next time I forget.  Who knows, I might decide to plow into creating a novel about a cattle drive some day and need to recall this thought!  Well, maybe a short story is more likely.  Umm, a vignette?  I may have to be satisfied with this blog post that will perhaps aid some other writer who has more ambition.

I am happy we turned around.

Thankful for Books

On this third day of self-imposed challenge to be mindful of thankfulness, I am thankful for the written word -- for books.  The photo is of a small section of the "Great Works" series as chosen and published by Britannica many years ago.  We acquired this set long before we could afford to do so because we strongly believe an understanding of such works is important to a complete education.

The written word is a storehouse of knowledge that is ever evolving as we collectively learn more and more about the world around us.  As I view those in the photo, the works of Ptolemy stand out to me.  He wrote three primary works, "Almagest," "Geography" and "Tetrabiblos."  The first, "Almagest" is important in that it is the oldest surviving comprehensive treatise on astronomy.  It is geo-centric in that it places the earth at the center of the universe, but it describes the universe as a set of shells revolving about the earth (this implies the earth as a ball).  He included only the area of the sky visible to him due to limitations to travel during his lifetime.  His mathematical models enabled one to accurately predict the positions of many celestial bodies such as major star constellations, the sun and the moon, based on the time of the year.  They provided a foundation for navigation.

In Ptolemy's work, "Geography," he published locations of the "known world" of the ancient Greeks based on a coordinate system similar to that used today.  His calculations, utilizing degrees of arc, established relative positions of various places according to their positional relationship to the equator and the polar circle as well as to each other (again implying the earth is a ball).  The coordinate system was also an important foundation to navigation.

We must use wisdom when reading what others have written.  It is clear that much of what we "believe" to be factual at a particular point in time is later proven to be incorrect, or incomplete.  With written records of our thoughts we can build on what others before us have recorded of their own thinking and by doing so, we are able to advance our own understanding.  Without the written word, we would have to rely on oral tradition which evolves quickly due to imperfect memory.  Many of us have played the game in which a "secret" is whispered in the ear of the next person in a circle.  After several iterations of passing the "secret" along it becomes almost unrecognizable.

Reading and writing are the most important skill sets we can teach our children.  If you can read, you can learn almost anything.  Yes, some things require hands-on aptitude as well, but a basic understanding can be gained from books which makes acquiring the manual skills easier.

I am thankful that my parents read to me as a child and through them I gained a love of books and learning that I have passed on to my children and they, in turn, will pass on to theirs.  One of my greatest pleasures is to read to my grandchildren and to see their joy in hearing the oft-repeated stories.  There is nothing better than a bunch of kids sitting on the lap or, the arm of the chair, or standing to the side, or behind as you read to them.  Yes, I am thankful for books and how they connect us through the generations.

"Jesus did many other things as well.  If every one of them were written down, I suppose that even the whole world would not have room for the books that would be written." -- John 21:25

Pushing Forward

Sometimes determination is the only thing that keeps you moving forward.  It is something that happens in the mind -- a decision -- that no matter the obstacle, you will continue.  It isn't always rational.  It may be that the thing we are bent on accomplishing is of little or, no consequence and when we have completed the task there is no value in the chore, but only in the fact we drove ourselves to do it.

That is my thought this morning as I write.  I don't know that what is said here makes a difference to anyone, or anything, but it is something I have set for myself to do each day.  Some days, like this one, I struggle to find a subject about which to share but, there are other days when the words seem to flow easily.

I think that in every task we face, there is often a point at which we must make the decision to push on, no matter how we "feel" and no matter how much success we have experienced in what we are doing.  It is something that I faced almost daily in jobs that involved selling a product or service.  After several rejections, the next call can sometimes seem pointless.  I had to remind myself that it was a "numbers game" in which only a percentage of contacts would result in a sale, therefore, it wasn't about facing rejection again, it was about finding that small percentage who would say yes to my offering.

I suspect my writing is the same in that there are times when my words resonate with the reader and have a positive impact and there are times when they are simply words on a page.  I have to remind myself why I am writing -- I write to hone my craft.

Whatever it is that you do, always remind yourself of the reasons that you do it and push ahead; push through the obstacles and the days when it seems pointless.  Determine to continue forward no matter how you feel or, how others respond to your efforts.  Do it for your own growth.  Do it because whether you know it or, not, you have been called to do it at this point in your life.  Keep putting one foot in front of the other and find joy in what you do.

That Which Dwells Within

Sometimes when I write,
The thing that is on my mind
Is wondering if
There is something I might say
That would make a positive impact
On one of my grandchildren
Who might read the words
At some point in the future.

I think,
Deep down,
What all of us really want
Is to know that what we did
Made a difference
For someone else.

There are other times when I write
That I think of those
In other parts of the world
Who might happen upon my words by chance
And read them,
Wondering who this person was
And why they think/thought the way they do
And just possibly
Find something positive there.

I think,
Deep down,
What all of us really want
Is to know that what we did
Made a difference
For someone else.

There are other times when I write
That those people
Who I came across at some point in time,
Whether classmates, or acquaintances,
Or friends through the years
Might read my words
And realize that who they knew
Wasn't all
Of who I am.

I think,
Deep down,
What all of us really want
Is to know that what we did
Made a difference
For someone else.

Ultimately,
I hope that somewhere in my words,
People who might read them
Will see that,
In spite of my flaws,
Jesus is firmly at the center
Of what I believe
And who I am.

That, I think,
Deep down,
Is what I should want most of all --
Knowing that what He did
Can make all the difference
For someone else.

"For God so loved the world, He gave his only Son, that whoever believes in Him should not die, but have eternal life." -- John 3:16

Words and More Words

I truly intended to get a post out yesterday, but sometimes the things we need to do out-demand the things we desire to do.  I won't write twice as much today in order to make up for the missing!

I did learn yesterday that there actually are a handful of people who read the things that I write.  Some of them are obvious, like family and a few good friends, but I am occasionally surprised at encountering those who have read my words and remembered them and make mention to me.  It is gratifying, yet intimidating, because it emphasizes the responsibility we have for our words.  What we say and what we write can have impact on others in ways we may not always be able to predict.

I do try to avoid being especially inflammatory here, although sometimes I will get political.  Politics can be polarizing -- just observe the current situation in Washington.  Even with political subjects, though, I try to keep my thoughts "gauged" and designed more to provoke conversation and thought, rather than vitriol.  Sometimes it even works!

I don't claim to be a teacher, yet each and every one of us is a teacher by the example we set for others and the words of our mouth and mind/hand.  Sometimes what we teach is imbued with wisdom and at other times, folly.  I pray that my words will convey wisdom -- often without my knowledge or, awareness, or even intent that they do so.  God works through the words of man just as He works through our actions.  I pray that my words be empowered with the Spirit of Truth.  Always.  I know I will fail at times, but He never does.

"Not only was the Teacher wise, but also he imparted knowledge to the people.  He pondered and searched out and set in order many proverbs.  The Teacher searched to find just the right words, and what he wrote was upright and true.  The words of the wise are like goads, their collected sayings like firmly embedded nails -- given by one Shepherd.  Be warned, my son, of anything in addition to them.  Of making many books there is no end, and much study wearies the body.  Now all has been heard; here is the conclusion of the matter:  Fear God and keep his commandments, for this is the whole duty of man.  For God will bring every deed into judgment, including every hidden thing, whether it is good or evil."  -- Ecclesiastes 12:9-14

Persistent Thoughts

There are days when I write several paragraphs or,
verses of rhyme and then delete them because
it seems at the time they weren't really what
I wanted to say at all and so
what I had committed to this electronic platform
was wiped from my view with a few simple keystrokes
and I started back over with something new
only to find when I took a long view
that I ended up back in a similar place
to the one where I started before hitting erase
and I wonder what is it about what I thought
that caused it to cling so tightly
it wouldn't go away in spite of my
clearing the board and saying, "Enough!"
but, instead, hung in there tough
until it managed to find its way on the page
anyway.
Not today.

Uneven Thinking

Some days
My mind
Won't stay
Engaged in
Any particular
Line of
Thought and
Bounces from
One place
To another.

It's usually
When there
Is something
That is
Using up
Most of
The processing
Capacity and
Continually is
Running in
The background.

This is
One of
Those days
After a
Long night
Of wakeful
Thought about
A project
On which
I wish
To embark.

The result
Is that
This morning
My thoughts
Are disjointed
And broken
Into small
Fragments that
Make focusing
On something
Else a
Difficult task.

I can't even keep the number of lines the same....

Working Through My Thoughts

Today is a writing deadline for me.  My column for a trade publication for which I write is due today.  I have made numerous starts, but can't seem to complete it.  Maybe that's inaccurate; I've written a couple of them and then deleted them because they didn't "feel" right.

Usually, deadlines are good for me.  I like to have something virtually completed in my head before I "dump it" on paper -- er, type it into the computer.  Having started writing in the days of paper and pencil and later with a typewriter, old thinking dies hard.  I should just immediately begin the rough draft on the computer and correct it afterward.  Corrections are much easier today when it only requires a backspace or delete key.  The trouble with today's deadline is that I still have no clear idea about what to write.

The Publisher will likely be reading this post later this morning and will laugh at me.

The topic for the issue is, "Where do we go from here?"  The magazine will include industry projections and analysis.  Maybe that's the trouble; I don't have a clue where we are headed.  The level of turmoil and uncertainty in the world is high, but thinking back through history, when has it not been high?  Maybe that's the answer; just like the writer of Ecclesiastes, I will point out that there is nothing new under the sun.  It will be another year of same-old-same-old.

That's not like me though, I don't believe it for an instant.  Change is inevitable, but usually gradual in nature.  Change creeps in like a cat stalking a bird.  It is silent and stealthy and keeps its head down until suddenly springing upon the quarry which bursts into a ball of feathers beneath the swatting paw.  I suppose the answer is, don't be the ball of feathers.

Well, I'm glad we've had this little chat within my head, maybe now I have some sense of what to write for my column....

Writing Prompts

For Christmas this year, I received a book entitled "300 Writing Prompts."  It was from the one who knows me best, my wife.  She knows I often struggle with topics on which to write.

Although the book claims no author, it is a product of Picadilly Press, it seems obvious to me to have been written, at least primarily, by a young woman judging from the prompts included therein.  Many of them are gender neutral, but a large number are oriented toward feelings.  I've never been particularly adept at articulating my feelings.  I suspect that is a "male" thing, but suppose it could be peculiar to my personality -- I'm trying to be generous here and reach toward neutrality.

Some example prompts:

• What is your favorite way to spend a lazy day?
• Do you prefer taking risks or having a safety net?
• What area of your life do you tend to enjoy in excess instead of moderation?
• What is the biggest trigger for stress in your life?
• How do you act when you are afraid?
• What do the clothes you are wearing now say about you?
• How do you soothe yourself when you are upset?
• What, in your opinion, is strength?
• Who was your favorite band or singer when you were young?

That brief sample will give you an idea of the type of things listed as prompts in the book.

Setting myself the goal of writing something each day creates a self-imposed pressure to perform.  It is designed to create the discipline of writing deliberately -- to hone the craft through repetition.  Just like any athlete, a writer must write.  They must work at their craft in order to perfect it.

I make no claim to perfection in my writing -- not even to mediocrity -- however, it is something I enjoy and something I wish to improve.  I write in order to write.  It is therapy.  It is a way to maintain the neural pathways.  It is a way to record for anyone who might wish to read, that which is a part of me.

Like any recorder of history, or events, or merely thoughts, it is an incomplete record.  We record what we choose and therefore create a biased picture.  The bias is shaped by what we desire, not necessarily what we are.

I will utilize some of the prompts from the book over the coming year.  I may, or may not, warn the reader as to the source of an idea for posting; it will depend on my thoughts at the time.  I am always open to ideas.  If you are a reader of this blog and wish to request a topic, feel free to do so.  No guarantee that I will choose it, but I might!

Follow the Butterfly

[Following is an excerpt from something I wrote a couple of years ago.]

It was a large yellow and black butterfly common at the particular time of year and place – not a Tiger Swallowtail, but something similar.  It had touched my arm in one fleeting second as though to say, “Follow me.”  So, I did.  I followed it.

The heat was oppressive in the densely tangled thickets as I made my way over fallen logs and through tangled briar in pursuit of the gossamer-winged insect that stayed just ahead of me.  It was as though it waited for me to bull my way through the foliage of the deep-shaded woods that lay before me.  I was drawn to it as a bee to pollen.

It was merely a six-legged creature of the forest, yet deep within I knew I was deceived by appearance.  There was something more to this wondrous flitting beauty bouncing on the imperceptible air currents of the deepening forest.  Then it was gone.

I froze in my tracks, looking about me for the bright yellow flutter that had led me into the darkness, but it was not to be seen.  Then, as if from a trance, I became aware that I was in a place I had never been before.  I thought I had explored every inch of this forest between the creeks, yet nothing around me seemed familiar.  The dead fall, the tangled briars, the occasional beam of light shining brightly on a trembling leaf – nothing was familiar.  I was in a place I had never been before.

It was no bother, merely a wonder to me.  I knew that with only a small effort and a short hike I could reach the edge in any direction – a fence, a meadow, a wandering stream – I would enter the known in moments if I only struck out but, I waited.  I felt disoriented.  There was enticement in the unknown.  I wanted to remain in this place where the familiar was unfamiliar.

The forest is a noisy place.  The sounds of insects, frogs, birds, the skittering creatures stirring the leaves filled what felt like silence but was never silent.  It was a place where fear could seize but did not. 

I searched for a place to sit and listen.  The crumbling logs encrusted with fantastic arrays of mushrooms, toadstools and various other fungi drew my gaze until I sensed the presence of the tiny slithering insects that filled their rotten core.  There were no rocks, no fresh-fallen timber, only decay and the refuse of fallen leaves and twigs and the occasional scrawny tuft of grass rising from the moldering proto-soil.

I wanted to absorb, to enter into the world around me in ways that I had never done before.  I wanted my senses filled with the odors, sounds, sight and feel of this seemingly primeval place.  I wished to merge with the forest – to make it one with me.

Before me stood an ancient tree, an oak, and its limbs reaching skyward before curving down toward the earth.  Some of the lower limbs touched the rotting forest floor only to curve upward again with a burst of foliage at the tip, reaching for stray sunshine filtering through the scant spaces above.  It was covered by lichens and moss.  The upper foliage obscured the sky but for the occasional space where some damaged limb had come crashing to the ground, only to lie in place until the unseen workers had converted it to soil.

A Snippet from "Making of an Outlaw"

Some days it is hard to come up with something about which to write.  Today is one of those days, so I have provided a small snippet of something I started on awhile back.

It was a soggy day.  Sometimes a light shower and at others a downpour, it had rained for three days straight.  It wasn’t cold so much as just the persistent, soaking wetness that sent shivers through Jake at intervals as he plodded through the puddles; three interminable days.

In a way, the rain was a blessing.  It erased tracks and kept the timid indoors.  High creeks had been a problem.  The detours, though, had probably helped to throw any followers off the trail. 

The plodding rhythm of hooves lulled Jake into a complacency that allowed vivid memories of the previous few days to come boiling up in his mind…. 

Fort Smith had been quite a place.  It was crawling with both Yankee and Rebel sympathizers as well as men from both sides of the recent conflict who only months before had been fighting each other.  Tension was high and shots often rang out when tempers reigned unchecked.  That was part of what had set Jake to traveling south.

Having grown up in Missouri, a border state, Jake was familiar with local sentiment that publicly followed whatever troops were in the neighborhood.  Mostly, people just wanted to be left alone.  The hill people, his people, chose where they lived because they craved a place where they were free to carve a life for themselves.

The Ozark hills were home to Jake.  He grew up on the mountain overlooking Swamp Hollow and Sellers Creek....

Unwritten Thoughts

This is now the third time
That I've started here to write
Something on this blank page
Here before my sight.

It isn't that I'm struggling
With something here to say
It's just that I don't like
For it to come out in a way

That might be taken wrongly
By someone who might read
The thing that I have written
Of some remembered deed

So, instead I'll write this nonsense
That obscures my current thought
That perhaps should be written
But, today, I think will not.

Words on a Page

Words written on a page
Are windows
Into that
Which lies beyond
Our own experience.

We learn,
We imagine,
We live
The words.

In them we may see
The pathways
Not traveled
And find enlightenment
For our needs.

We learn,
We imagine,
We live
The words.

It may be the "how to"
Or, a Biography
Or, it might be
A flight of fancy
That provides escape.

We learn,
We imagine,
We live
The words.

They provide insight
Into that which
Went before
Or, perhaps a glimpse
Of what lies ahead.

We learn,
We imagine,
We live
The words.

Through recorded experience,
We learn.
Through recorded conjecture
We imagine.
By embracing the written word
We expand our lives.

Words on a Page

Sometimes when I sit and think,
Or look at a blank page,
I wonder why I take the time to write.

Instead, I could just take a nap
Or, sit and drink a cup
And in the peaceful moment take delight.

But, I feel compelled it seems
To put the word to page
Recording there the things that fill my mind.

Is it some gremlin in my head
That's bent to waste my time
Or, are there reasons I have yet to find

That drive me to apply my fingers
To the plastic keys
And watch the words that scroll across the screen

That sometimes seem so simple
And at other times complex
While most of them are likely never seen

By anyone but me who cares
One whit 'bout what I write
Especially when they're as they are today

Where they are just a sequence of
Black letters on the page
And nothing there important for to say?

Rhymes and Times

Some of you may wonder when/where I started writing poetry.  Well, I call it poetry although some of it is pretty lame.  Most of it would be considered doggerel rather than serious poetry.  I suppose it began in college  back in the 70's when I wrote a few songs.  I never did much with the songs, although I did copyright a few of them.  I would have to dig pretty hard to find them.

The next attempt at poetry would have been in the 80's when I took a "Cowboy Poetry" class from Cindy Buchanan who supposedly was a descendant of Cynthia Ann Parker -- the mother of Quanah Parker.  It was in Olton and there were probably a dozen of us that attended.  She did a later class in Lubbock which I also attended.  I met some interesting people in those classes.

After that, I wrote a few poems here and there that might be considered cowboy poetry.  I say, "might be" because I never really was a cowboy, so they more accurately would be considered poems written about the cowboy/ranching lifestyle by a non-cowboy.  They were infrequent and often written in odd circumstances such as while helping with a hamburger cookout for a feedyard crew.  I recall hearing a funny story from one of the cowboys and then creating a poem about it on a napkin.  Some years later I was in the feedyard and the poem had been framed and was hanging on the wall in the office.

It wasn't until I started this blog that I began to write poetry fairly consistently.  I probably prefer prose, but the challenge of writing in rhymes appeals to me.  It requires frequently rearranging thoughts and lines to be able to couple words that rhyme.  It also has a rhythmic quality that is similar to writing music.

If you were to go back through the fairly lengthy history (started in February, 2007) of this blog you will find that I go through periods of poetry and periods of prose.  There is also a two-year gap when I put nothing into the blog.  That doesn't mean I wasn't writing, I just wasn't doing so regularly or, for putting on this particular venue.

It is also interesting to note the things that are popular with readers (Saturday's post about growing up in a small town is one of them).  I don't necessarily write this for others, but mostly for myself.  It is a way to record my thoughts and to leave something for my family if they should be curious.  I don't know that my words will tell them much, but perhaps there will be a few clues sprinkled here and there about who I am/was.

I wish I had such from my parents, grandparents, and the generations before them.  It would interest me greatly.  Anyway, that's my thoughts this morning....

Travel and Work

When I travel for my work I find the hours are mighty long;
I work when I awake and often well into the night.

The phone is always ringing, this computer in my hand
That buzzes with the e-mail or when a text the screen does light.

Instead of setting it aside to wait until the 'morrow
I frequently just deal with it and sometimes work quite late.

For what else am I going to do while stuck in a hotel
Since I care not for the t.v. where mindless heads do prate?

I usually fill the silence with a keyboard in my hand
And if by chance I find the time I often sit and write;

It is a simple thing that can occupy my mind
Even if it's something like this Blog I wrote last night.

[Sometimes I experiment a bit with which lines rhyme.  This one is a little awkward, but the pattern worked.  I'm sure some English teacher or, literary purist would have a fit over it, but I don't write for them anyway....]

(It's kinda cool that you can schedule when it posts....)